The Crimson Eyed Snake
by ThatChick172
Summary: I thought my life was pretty well thought out... Holidays, college and big city dreams. But rules are meant to be broken and plans are meant to be destroyed. The truth is, you can try and fight and get to any place you want. But in the end, life will always take you exactly where you belong. Hessianxoc
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As some of you may have noticed I deleted my previous SH story "A Tree Grows in Sleepy Hollow". The truth is, I wasn't really satisfied with it so I decided to start over. Anyway, for those who were familiar with the previous one, this loosely follows the previous storyline (but I guess you'll figure that out on your own). I don't own anything of course (though I wouldn't mind owning the Horseman *stupid giggle*) except my OC. Okay, I'm ending this. Right. Here. Enjoy! **

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><p><em>I wanna be praised from a new perspective<br>But leaving now would be a good idea  
>So catch me up I'm getting out of here<em>

_New Perspective - Panic! At The Disco_

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><p><strong>And So It Began<strong>

Another day, another adventure.

Shouldn't that be my attitude towards life?

I mean, things are just fine right now. School's over, I'm about to move to New York and go to college and I have even planned on going on vacation in a couple of weeks.

You know that feeling of eagerness, anticipation and excitement you get when you're about to make a new beginning, do something big?

I don't get it.

For me it's more like panic, insecurity and sadness. Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

I think I'm just scared. Scared of the unknown, scared of leaving it all behind, scared of watching my life turn out so… dull. Sometimes, I feel like I'm sinking in an ocean of faces. I feel like I do exactly what others expect me to do, without it being what I want. And the part that bugs me the most, is the fact that I'm not sure about what I want. I always thought that I'd know when I saw it. I guess I had a wrong approach on life…

I'm rambling on, aren't I?

I'll be doing a lot of that. That's how I've always been, overanalyzing.

My name's Linda. Linda Robinson. Except when my dad's mad at me. Then it's more like 'Melinda-Sharon-Robinson-get-your-butt-here-at-once!' I'm eighteen years old, with nothing really special about me.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

You could say I'm kind of lazy. That's probably why I'm just lying on my bed, playing with a tuft of my hair instead of doing something more young adult-like, such as looking for apartments. I guess, it's one of those days when you feel like doing nothing…and to be more precise, by nothing I mean watch crappy TV shows all day and eat all sorts of junk you can find around the house, trying to get over your sad, sad breakup.

Here it goes again, that wave of hot tears that blurs my vision and makes my jaw clench. Why do I feel like this? Both Steve and I knew this would happen.

I mean, how could it work out? In a couple of months, we'll be living at different coasts. And it's not like I was madly in love with him. I think we were together because it was fun, nothing serious.

Still, though, it bumps me that I have to leave this behind, too.

See? That's exactly the kind of stuff I was talking about! Why can't I just accept things as they come? Why do I have to be so needy?

Am I too egocentric? I think I am. Some problems I've got! Being unable to get over myself. Yeah, it's almost as serious as world hunger and environmental degradation.

I need some fresh air.

Glancing at the clock next to me, I realize it's already midnight. It's too late for a walk.

I desperately need to get out, though. At nights like this, I feel like I'm losing myself.

Nah, I'll stay inside. Eat those chips I left somewhere on my desk and then maybe cry myself to sleep.

Right, what's next? Cutting?

Ugh! Motorcycle keys, stop staring at me!

Fine, I'll go for a little ride. Just for a while… No one will notice… hopefully. Or else, I'm screwed.

I don't think about it any further. I briskly jump out of bed and open the closet, taking out the first things I see.

A pair of skinny jeans, a blue tank top and a black jacket. Fair enough.

I hastily change clothes and grab my earphones and cell phone. This should be fun.

Sliding down the hallway, I look around worriedly, my eyes widened due to the darkness.

My parents are probably asleep. I'm lucky.

I reach for the motorcycle keys and clutch them tightly, to prevent them from jingling. I hold them so hard that it's almost painful, but I'm not taking risks. A sense of excitement mixed with a hint of guilt surges through me and I smile cunningly, considering what I'm about to do.

I know it's wrong, but at this point I can't stop. This isn't the first time I do this, anyway. I don't mean to brag, but I'm quite good at sneaking out.

Alright, I'm out. Crossing the front yard, I inhale deeply, taking in the sweet smell of roses and petunias my father has planted on each side of the stone path that leads to the street.

I'll miss that smell.

The motorcycle is parked outside the fence. It looks a little disorientated compared to its surroundings. I'd say it's a little too badass for such a neighborhood.

Not giving it a second thought, I get on and start it, hoping that no one will get alarmed by the sound of the engine.

I'm ready to go.

I head outside the town, towards the woods, my auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, waving in the cool, July air. It's just the Beast and me.

The Beast… I remember calling it like this when I first saw it, seven or eight years ago. My father bought it for a ridiculously high price, but little did he care. Sometimes he treated it as if it was his own child. His huge, black Yamaha… I was so fascinated by it, as a little girl, dreaming about the day I'd get to go for a ride with it. And that day came, two years ago. At first I was intimidated by its size. I thought I would never manage to control it.

I've come a long way since that.

I'm not afraid to go fast. I know how to handle it. I can feel the road. It makes me feel powerful. Invincible.

I'm already in the woods. The sound of the Beast fills my ears and I barely think of where I'm going.

Maybe things will be fine. Maybe I just have to lighten up a little bit. Maybe I'll manage to make a new beginning.

Maybe…

Shit.

I'm an idiot. A huge one.

I don't remember taking this path before.

Panic is taking over as the realization becomes clearer and clearer. I'm lost.

And it's raining. Heavily.

I manage to stop and look around, hoping that I can recognize this clearing, which is ridiculous, taking into account that a forest is more or less the same, no matter where you are, especially at night.

That's what you get when your head is constantly in the clouds.

I glance behind, my expression one of pure desperation. The clearing branches out to all directions and I have no idea where I came from.

I won't lose it now. I won't panic. And no matter how shitty things get, I won't cry.

Not knowing what else to do, I get on the Beast again and ride forwards. There is a chance the path will lead to a road I know. Or at least I hope so.

I keep going and going but the path doesn't seem to stop anywhere. I ignore whatever turns I see. I don't need to make things more complicated.

Whatever hopes I had, fade away slowly, leaving me with my fears and frustration. My only consolation is the engine sound, loud and monotonous. It makes me feel like I'm safe, although I know safe is a far cry from what I am right now.

I don't know how long I have been riding, racing my panic. The rain hasn't stopped at all and I can hear thunders all the more often.

This is all my fault. Had I stayed at home, none of this would have happened. But no. Twenty-four hours without doing something stupid is one too many for me. I had to sneak out.

I hate to say so, but that'll teach me.

…If I make it out alive.

I'll make it out alive.

I speed up. The never-ending path is starting to get on my nerves.

Suddenly, I hear a really loud thunder, followed by a horrible shrill sound. For a second the night turns into day and I jolt. Being distracted, I loosen my grip on the steer wheel and lose control. I shift my weight forwards, praying that I won't slip from my seat, but it's too late. The front wheel bumps into a bulgy, sharp rock and next thing I know, I'm thrown off of my seat.

Landing on the ground, I hear the motorcycle crash into a tree.

The blinding flashes of light continue for a while, as the wild wind keeps blowing.

I can hear the motorcycle. I can hear it, but I can't see anything other than the sky, that keeps switching from pitch black to a faded purple.

I know I have to get up, but, damn, I can't. Even keeping my eyes open takes a lot of effort. My whole body is in pain and I all I can do is let out little cries of agony.

Is this the end?

The sky is spinning… Faster and faster…

I shut my eyes, trying to overcome my dizziness, but I can still feel the whole world spin beneath me.

"I'm sorry", I whisper as I keep slipping into the warmth and security of the darkness. I don't know what I'm sorry for, neither do I care.

I think it's all good.

My bike is here…

The rain has stopped…

And I am…


	2. Shattered

_Head spinning couldn't find my way around and  
>Didn't know that I was going down<br>Where I've been, well, it's all a blur  
>What I was looking for, I'm not sure<br>Too late and didn't see you coming  
>And then I crashed into you and I went up in flames…<em>

Crashed - Daughtry

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><p><strong>Breathe<strong>

I wake up in a bed of dead leaves. A pale ray of light hits my face and I blink a couple of times, trying to adjust to the daylight.

It's not the light that blurs out my vision, though. An acute pain at the back of my head makes me see black little dots with every pulse

I don't know what the hell's going on, but right now, I don't feel like trying to find out, either. My head hurts horribly when I blink and my stomach turns. I think I'll just sleep for a while… Yeah… It sounds good…

When I come round again, I realize that nothing's changed. Except my eyesight. I can see everything clearly, now.

What the…?

Still lying down, I look around, hoping to see something familiar. I've no idea where I am, though. And it freaks me out.

I have to get up. I want to get up.

When I try to support my body on my arm, though, I fall back down.

Damn, that hurt.

Okay, one more try. I can do this. Slowly.

My back hurts so much that I don't think I'll manage to crouch down again. Ever. I'm up, though. And considering the state of my mind right now, this is really something.

Hey, I did it. I can feel good about myself.

Or not…

Wake up call: Where is my bike?

I look around, trying to find it but it's no use. It's gone.

And the weirdest part is, there is no trail from its wheels.

Did someone steal it? And then what? Just left me there? I don't think it's possible. I mean, who roams around the woods so late at night in a middle of a storm? Except me, of course.

I want to find my motorcycle, I really do. Because I know that if I don't, I'm as good as dead. But I'm freezing. And my arm is bleeding.

I take a better look of it. There is a pretty deep cut on my wrist, one that is sure to leave a scar.

A reminder of my recklessness. I lean against a tree and laugh nervously. Right. Because it's so funny. If I don't laugh, though, I'll surely burst out in tears.

Hasn't anyone searched for me?

I check my cell phone, hoping to find out that someone's called me. However, there are no calls. And to make things worse, there is no service, either.

Okay, that's not too weird. I'm in a forest.

I should probably move forwards, try to find a way out of these woods. Then I'll call my parents or hitchhike. See? I'm fine and one hundred percent capable of taking care of myself.

Of course, I've lost a motorcycle, but I try not to think about that.

I make an attempt to walk, but once again, I don't estimate things right. My body is weaker than I think, and with the first step I take, I trip and fall down, butt first. Frustration is starting to take over and I feel like crying but I manage to control myself and stand up again.

I'm not going to sit there forever.

Placing one foot in front of the other, I make a few steps forwards. I have no idea where I'm going but little do I care. I can walk just fine and that's all that matters.

I don't really know how to feel about my position. I know it's far from good, but on the bright side, I survived a night in the woods all by myself. And although, I technically did nothing to accomplish that, I can't help but feel a little grateful to be alive and in a relatively good condition.

You know what? I'll tell that to my mother, see if it will stop her yelling.

I wish I had a decent excuse about the lost motorcycle but I have no idea about what has happened to it. The most rational explanation I can come up with, is that someone stole it. Yet again, it doesn't make much sense.

Ugh, whatever, I'll let that bug me later. First things first. I have to find a way out.

Out of this forest… Which now that I think about it is the strangest forest I have ever seen in my life. Why are these trees dead? And why is it so cold? I mean, last time I checked, it was July!

The realization creeps me up and that doesn't help at all. Am I missing on something? Did something I don't remember happen last night? Because that doesn't seem normal at all…

…says the girl who decided to go for a ride in the middle of the night.

What the hell was I thinking? Am I insane? Maybe I'm insane. But at least I'm sane enough to know. Because insane people don't rationalize their madness like this, right?

Sometimes, I wish my brain would shut up.

I don't know how long I've been walking. Maybe it's been a few minutes. It feels like hours, though, I know that much.

Suddenly, I hear something that sounds like hoof beats. Really fast hoof beats actually. A hint of hope fills my heart and I smile. I had forgotten what that felt like.

Trying to catch up with the sound, I quicken my pace. I can't really run, but I limp as fast as I can.

Unlucky as I am, though, I trip on a rock and fall down.

Of course!

The sound fades away as I frantically try to get back on my feet. I manage nothing but to totter on the muddy ground and let out an aggravated scream. In an outburst of frustration, I pound my hands on the wet soil, splattering mud all over my jacket.

Alright, I know there is a big chance I wouldn't manage to reach whoever was riding but ugh! Did this really have to happen?

I think I've reached the limits of my self-control. I feel like a filled cup, one drop away from overflowing. This has to be the most frustrated I've ever felt in my life.

Still, what choice do I have? At least, there might be people here.

Yup.

Gotta be optimistic. It'll keep me away from the mental breakdown.

Like that ever worked with me…

I let out a choked sob and get up abruptly. Removing a dead leaf from my hair, I try to clear my mind, regain my composure.

I start walking again, trying as hard as I can to think of nothing else but the steady steps I take. I'm about to cry but I don't stop. I keep counting my steps out loud as if I cast a spell, holding on to that last string of sanity. If somebody saw me, they'd probably think I've lost it. Who knows? Maybe they would be right.

_One, two, three, four…_

Glancing at my cell phone once again, I see that it's already four in the afternoon.

It feels like it's early in the morning, though, probably because it's all cloudy and chilly.

I wrap my jacket tight around my body and look down. For some reason, I can't quite explain, I start to panic. Maybe it's because of the eerie essence this forest reflects…

As I walk in a straight line, I hear something. At first, I can't really tell what it is, but as I keep getting closer I realize that it's… voices!

Oh God, please make that be the end of this nightmare.

The louder the voices get, the faster I limp. I get hit and scratched but branches but I don't mind. It's over!

Finally, after passing by two huge trees I reach a clearing.

For a moment, I freeze in my spot.

In front of me, lies the most peculiar tree I've ever seen in my life.

It's enormous. Its roots come out of the ground, creating a cave-like opening that is covered by branches. The trunk is twisted and its long, leafless branches, reach out to all directions, looking like they're about to grab anything that comes close. A sword is nailed on an elevated part it.

I can't help but think that this is the core of lifelessness in this forest.

What draws my attention, though, is the three people who stand a few feet away from me.

A blonde woman of about my age, a young man and his human shield, a frail, dark haired boy, twelve years old at most. The weirdest part, though, is the fact that they're dressed as if they stepped out of the eighteenth century.

…And they look at me as if I was an alien. I guess that's understandable. I just stormed out of the woods and I probably look horrible.

Two horses stand nearby, one of them white, the other brown with ivory blots on its back.

Aha…

Perhaps things would be less awkward if I actually said something.

I lock my hands behind my back and look around, my lips pressed in a grimace of agitation. I know they expect some kind of explanation but the words get lost in the void darkness that hasn't left my mind since I woke up. Panic strikes once again as I realize that I'm not as sober as I thought I was. If forming a sentence feels like solving a math problem, how well am I really?

I focus on a dead leaf on the ground, hoping that the knot in my stomach will loosen if I don't look at those people.

Why do I feel so anxious?

Clearing my throat, I take a step forwards and try to look amiable. Or is it needy? I'm not proud of it, but I kind of want them to feel sorry for me.

"H-hi. Have you seen my motorcycle?", I mouth, my shaky voice as meek as possible.

I couldn't have asked a stupider question, even if I tried. How are they supposed to have seen it?

Well, at least I said something… to which they do not respond. Instead, they keep staring at me in awe.

Losing the tiny hint of confidence I managed to acquire, I glance down myself, trying to figure out what they find so strange. There is nothing odd about me, apart from a little mud on my clothes and that wound on my arm.

"No? It's a black…", I continue, completely aware that I shouldn't insist on that matter, but suddenly, the man interrupts me.

"What is a motorcycle?"

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to MonstarzGirl for her nice review! :)**


	3. New Perspective

_I can't handle this confusion  
>I'm unable; come and take me away<br>_

Take Me Away - Avril Lavigne

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><p>What?<p>

I mean… I mean…

What?

"What do you mean 'what is a motorcycle'?", I ask in bewilderment.

The man keeps staring at me, pure confusion reflected in his dark eyes.

"I… have no knowledge of such a thing, it is really that simple", he throws back in a kind of offended but still puzzled tone, reeling a small axe in his hands.

"In the year 2011 how can someone **not **know what a motorcycle is?", I exclaim, crossing my arms in disbelief.

A few moments of silence pass, before the boy dares to speak.

"2011? You mean 1799"

I arch an eyebrow and give him a questioning look, to which he responds by shrugging his shoulders.

Is this some kind of twisted joke? I hope so, because it's either this, or I'm off the wall.

I turn to the man again, who still stares at me, just like the rest of the group.

"Are you kidding me?", I ask, snorting at the stupidity of it all.

"I do not… kid", he mumbles.

The young woman smiles awkwardly at me but my annoyed expression doesn't change, at all.

"Well… I have not yet introduced myself. I am Katrina Van Tassel and this is Constable Ichabod Crane and young Masbath", she states out of the blue.

"Linda Robinson", I throw back blandly, still frowning upon the idiocy of the situation.

I hate to use this expression but are they for real?

Oh, I get it. They're actors. Probably rehearsing for a play, not getting out of character… Okay, that's good, it makes sense. But they'd better drop the act, soon.

"I'm lost", I state gravely, hoping that they will get serious at last.

"Of course you are. No sane person would enter the Western Woods on purpose", Ichabod replies, making my heart sink.

I stare at him, still as a statue, for a few seconds, trying to figure out what this is supposed to mean.

"Where are you from?", he asks concernedly, catching me off guard.

An acute wave of pain strikes my head and I hop, in an attempt not to lose my balance. Everything spins for a second or two and my stomach turns. I pout and shut my eyes, my jaw clenched so that the cry of pain I hold back won't escape my lips. I don't think about his question. I don't think about anything, really. I just try to stand on my feet.

"Are you suffering memory loss?"

Well, I wish I was. Then, I would just become a part of this nonsense, without questioning my sanity.

I open my mouth, only to shut it again, unable to answer. The only thing that whirls in my head is my desire to get home and feel safe and sound again; climb onto my bed and get tucked in my warm covers… The ones I left last night when sneaking out seemed like a good idea…

Stupid.

"Memory loss", I eventually manage to mouth.

I don't even know why I said that.

Feeling the need to rest, I force my sore feet to move towards the enormous tree and sit on one of its bulging roots.

I might be a freezing mess, but I catch the balled up looks Ichabod and Katrina exchange.

Something is not right…

"You might not want to sit there", Katrina states meekly as she approaches me.

"Why?"

No answer.

"Why are you doing this?", I huff out, a little more suspiciously than intended.

"We are only trying to be of some help", Ichabod stutters.

"That I saw", I throw at him and cup my face with my hands immediately, trying to suppress my nausea and my anger. I thought asking them for help would be the end of my problems but I can honestly say that I feel as lost and scared as I did when I first regained consciousness.

A few moments of inner battle pass, the only sound being my ragged breaths as I hold back my sobs. My breath clouds like smoke in front of my face and my eyes sting due to the cold and the tears I try my hardest to control.

With a final sniffle, I lift my head and look at Ichabod again. I've softened up, though I am not going to apologize. After all, what do I care if they're crazy or just make fun of me? If they can get me out of these woods, I won't put up a fight. It's not like I'll see them again, anyway.

Katrina offers me a handkerchief and I wipe the last tears that slide down my cheeks.

"Where am I?", I ask, hoping for a logical answer.

"Just outside Sleepy Hollow", Ichabod replies.

"As in Sleepy Hollow, New York?"

"That would be correct"

That would be a long way from Ohio.

"And this is 1799?"

"Yes"

So now I'm a time traveler, what do I know?

Whatever, I'll try being nice. I will simply explain my situation, ask for directions and be gone.

"Last night, as I was riding, a storm burst out. I- I don't know, I think I bumped into something and fell off of my seat. I don't remember much after that, I must have passed out. Anyway, do you know the way out of the woods? How can I get to the driveway?"

They still look at me in confusion.

"What about your horse?", Katrina asks innocently.

"I wasn't riding a _horse_", I hiss through my teeth.

"I beg your pardon?"

All right, I said I'll be nice but I'm not a freaking saint!

"You know what? It doesn't matter! It doesn't matter at all! Because even if I tried to explain, you'd just keep playing 'Little House on the Prairie'! I'm lost. Please help me! How do I get to the driveway? You gon' tell me, or what?"

"I'd love to help you, but…", she mumbles anxiously but upset as I am, I don't let her finish.

"No! Just… no! No more questions! No more 18th century, no more enchanted woods, no more of this… gibberish! ! Just tell me how to leave this damn place and we'll be good, okay?"

"Do not excite yourself, Ms. Robinson", Ichabod scolds and I look at him in shame. I'm not the person to snap like this, really, but I can only take that much.

Sigh. Close your eyes; count to three; take a deep breath.

See? Much better now.

"Which way do I go?", I ask again as composedly as I can, though the faltering in my voice probably gives away my dither.

"Are you hurt?", Katrina asks and glances at my arm. My wound bleeds again, coloring my wrist with crimson streaks that slide down my fingers and dribble on the dead leaves on the ground. It's pretty overwhelming.

I nod affirmatively. Once again, they ignored my question. I give up.

I move uncomfortably on my position and bite my lower lip as I look at my arm. It's not a pretty sight and it hurts like hell.

"Would you like to come with us? I'm sure we can help one way or another"

I scrub my forehead and contemplate my answer. Why shouldn't I go? I think this is the lowest I can get, anyway.

"All right", I finally announce, as casually as I can.

The child helps me get up and I smirk at his gentle gesture.

Maybe I need to cheer up a little bit…

"But we are in the middle of the investigation", Ichabod protests.

"I know. But we cannot leave her here. Trust me", Katrina responds, in a tone that shows there is no room for debate.

I watch them curiously, back straight and eyes wide, as they approach their horses and clutch their reins. If I didn't know better, I'd believe this truly is 1799.

We start walking slowly, taking a path I hadn't noticed, before. For a while we pace without speaking, the only sound being the crunching of the leaves we tread on. I wrap my jacket tightly around me but it barely manages to warm me and I quiver uncontrollably.

...I don't know what to make of this situation. These folks are probably insane and following them makes me feel ridiculous but I can put up with it. The weird, fleeting looks they give me do not go unnoticed, but I pretend that I don't mind. I keep telling myself that it will only be for a few minutes. Besides, I probably deserve this. I guess God or karma or whoever's watching me right now decided that I've used up my fair share of getting away with sneaking out for this lifetime.

"Do you believe in time traveling, Ms. Robinson?", Katrina asks interestedly at some point.

"Call me Linda", I ask, trying to sound amiable. I think my yelling has taken us way past the point of formality. "And no, I don't", I add abruptly, hoping to discourage her from talking about it any further.

But I don't. Here we go again…

"You should. This is the case"

"Right"

She turns and looks at me, the tiniest smirk making her lips curl.

"You think not?"

"Haven't I made it clear, already? I wonder why you insist on it"

"I am not trying to make a fool out of you"

"So you're saying that you believe in time traveling?"

"Seeing is believing", she states thoughtfully.

Should I believe them? What would they gain if they just made fun of me, anyway?

What am I even thinking about?

"This is rid-", I start but I'm cut short, as what I eye is beyond my imagination.

A few feet ahead of me, lie the first houses of a town.

They are large, old-fashioned buildings, most of them made of stone, with tile roofs and picket fences around their huge yards. Smoke comes out of most of the chimneys, giving the town a mysterious, yet cozy feeling. There is neither a sidewalk nor asphalt on the ground, just dirt and a few dead leaves now and then. We cross a stone bridge and I hesitantly approach the side and look down, at the small group of ducks that swim carelessly across the pond. The scene reminds me a lot of my grandma's house in the countryside and I hang on to that memory, searching for some sense of familiarity in this mess.

"Come", Ichabod addresses me and pulls me lightly by the elbow. He must have sensed my insecurity, for as I turn to look at him, his expression is one of slight sympathy.

I keep walking, my mouth hanging open. I know it's ridiculous but I avoid to look around and fix my gaze forwards, instead. The town is strange, yet beautiful. Every little corner of it screams old-fashioned and I have to admit that I keep growing fonder and fonder of it with every hesitant step I take. However, I feel like a thick cloak of fear and suspicion has wrapped the area in a deathly embrace. Perhaps it is just me. Although I try not to think about it, a little part of me keeps repeating the same truth over and over. My mind can't comprehend this right now and that's because I'm not nearly as good as I try to convince myself that I am. I wish I could ignore that, but it is inescapable. It doesn't matter what I tell myself. When you know something, you know it. And the desperate words you scream in your head, in order to restore peace, are nothing but meaningless sounds that get scattered like dead leaves with the tiniest blow.

The whinny of a horse and the warmth of a breath on my neck makes me jolt and I turn around. Not paying attention to what was going on around me, I hadn't noticed how close to a stable I was. I stare at the white steed, that stands less than a foot away from me, as if it was the first time I saw one. Chuckling at my ridiculousness, I keep walking right behind Katrina.

God, it can't be true!

I mean, how can I deny it anymore? I see it with my own eyes and I know it's crazy and twisted on so many levels, but it's real! It's freaking real! And I… I… I think I'll pass out…

"The mansion is this way", Katrina informs me pointing at a path on her left.

"Wait", I exclaim and run in front of her. "How? I-I mean… why? It doesn't make… sense"

"Ι will explain everything, you have my word", she reassures me.

"Alright then, explain!", I demand, my eyes glowing in fear and wondering.

"We ought not to be seen here. Your clothing…", she says meaningfully.

I can't believe that our roles have been reversed. Now they are the rational ones and I'm the oddball who can't put two and two together…

I back down and nod understandingly. Her big, dark eyes reflect an essence of maturity and reliance and I feel like I can trust her. For one thing, she seems like the sanest thing in this mess. Hah. And half an hour ago, I thought she was nuts. Thumbs up to my judgment.

We take the path she indicated and soon, I realize which house is the mansion she was talking about. It must be the hugest house in Sleepy Hollow, though it doesn't differ greatly from the other estates, on any other aspects. Standing in all its majesty, on top of a small hill, it looks like a haunted house that has come out of a Halloween story.

Instead of walking through the enormous front door we go for the back one and that unsettles me. It's like I'm some sort of intruder.

I guess that is the case, really. I don't know much… I don't know what to fear nor what to expect. However, one thing's for sure. No one else in this place should find out how I ended up here.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to MonstarzGirl and TheElegantFaerie for reviewing!**


	4. The Legend

_With my wide eyes_  
><em> I've seen worlds that don't belong<em>  
><em> My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize<em>  
><em> Tell me why we live like this<em>

We are broken - Paramore

* * *

><p>The moment Katrina opens the door, she pushes me inside and practically drags me up the staircase. Pure confusion is displayed across my face, as I hobble on the wooden stairs. Hastily as I move, I don't manage to get a good look of the house but the little I see is enough to cause a new wave of shock to crash my chest.<p>

I've only seen houses like this in movies. And to be honest, it feels as real, too. The most of what I see is the hallway, with its distasteful emerald upholstery on the walls and the elaborately carved wooden chairs that narrow the way. Due to the lack of windows the aisle is quite dark and most of the pale, faded light comes from the only open door near the end of the corridor which reveals what I presume is the kitchen. A dozen question whirl in my head, but the sound of footsteps doesn't allow me to think about them much. Scared out of my wits, I willingly climb the rest of the stairs as fast as my sore feet allow me to and let Katrina lead me without a word. She glances at me worriedly, probably trying to figure out what's going on in my head, but I don't let any emotion show. Mainly because I don't even know how I feel.

We cross another corridor, this one plainer and wider and eventually open the last door on our left. As Katrina shuts it behind us, she lets out a sigh of relief.

I stand in the middle of the room, taking in every little detail. A single bed with iron frames lies against the wall on my right. There is a broad window over it, the only one in the room, which allows pale rays of light to illuminate it. The rest of the furniture consists of a decent closet near the foot of the bed, a desk, a very large mirror and a stove. The walls are a very light blue, making the bedroom seem even simpler and colder than it already is. An open door on the opposite wall, reveals a small, old-fashioned bathroom. The chamber is quite spacey to the point that it seems kind of empty and the realization makes me cringe with insecurity.

Oh God, what am I doing here?

"I know it's not much of a bedroom, but it's the only vacant guestroom in the mansion, right now. It's somewhat cold, but as soon as we light the stove it will be much better. I hope you can help me with that though, as I have never attempted it, before", Katrina rambles, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Why is it cold?", I cut her in a monotonous tone.

"I beg your pardon?", she asks, trying to sound kind.

I slowly turn to face her.

"It's cold outside. Why?"

You'd think that would be the least of my worries, but I gotta start from somewhere.

"Well, it _is _November…", she explains, a little bewildered.

"Oh", I throw discomposedly as I go to sit on the bed.

"I suppose a lot is troubling you", she says hesitantly.

"You do?", I ask back, shakily.

I start to tremble slightly. Maybe it's because of the cold… Maybe it's because of my fatigue… Maybe it's because of my position, wholly.

"Yes", she continues firmly. "And I think it only appropriate to inform you now that… this is my doing"

That… is new.

I raise my brows and bring my hands in front of my chest, trying to let her statement sink in. My mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out of it. I really don't know what to say, or even what to make of what I just heard.

For a couple of minutes she stares at me without saying anything, her troubled eyes searching desperately for some kind of reaction that will indicate how I took it. No use, really. I'm just as confused as she is.

I finally manage to put my thoughts in some kind of loose order.

"Care to elaborate?", I ask cautiously, but I don't know if I actually want to learn more.

She sits next to me and taps her hand on her knees, trying to find the right words.

"Perhaps this is not the best time to make such a confession. And truthfully, I don't know if there is a proper time. But I don't have much of a choice, now. Please, tell me, can I trust you?"

I blink a couple of times, unnerved by the long introduction. I won't like what I'll hear, there is no doubt about it. Should I say yes? Bind myself to her secret? Or should I say no and be left alone?

I close my eyes and contemplate her question for a minute.

"I trusted you", I finally state looking down, letting her make the decision.

"Indeed. And I suppose I can only do the same"

She takes a deep breath and looks me dead in the eye.

"I practice witchcraft. A spell gone wrong, resulted in the opening of a time portal. That someone would end up here in such an odd way, never crossed my mind. But the moment I saw you, I realized what I have caused"

"Wow. So, you did this…?"

"Yes. But I never intended to. Witchery is tricky business. A scanty mistake may bring about changes beyond belief. My spell was completely and utterly irrelevant to time traveling"

I wrap my arms around my body and look outside the window. The night starts to fall and the room keeps getting colder and colder.

"Fear me not, for I do not mean harm neither to you nor to anyone else, for that matter", she continues, unsettled by my silence. "I am fully aware of the peril I put you through and for that, I am honestly sorry"

"I don't hold a grudge", I assure her despite my bitterness. My cynical side, the one I've always used as self-defense, wishes to emerge but my fatigue and an odd sense of hollowness don't let me say much. I have to set priorities, anyway. And my number one right now, is finding a way out of this place… time… you figure it out. "So… I guess you know how to… send me back to my time?" With that I chuckle awkwardly, keeping my fingers crossed for her reply.

"I'm afraid it's not possible"

Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

"But you said that a mistake caused this. Cast the spell again with the same error. Won't that open the time portal?", I ask, completely thrown off.

"I wish it was as simple. But the outcome of a lapse in a spell cannot be predicted. For all we know, next time something entirely different might happen"

No. No. No. I refuse to believe that I'm stuck here.

"Aren't there any time traveling spells or some kind of potion or… or… I don't know, something!"

"Not that I know of", she admits in defeat.

I just died a little inside.

"Please tell me this is a really bad joke", I mutter, my hands covering my face.

"I'm sorry Linda. I know it is terrible. But, I shall help you as much as I can", she tries to comfort me.

"I won't be a burden…", I start but she never lets me finish.

"Nonsense. I caused this and it is my duty to make up for it. Besides, where would you go?"

I shrug my shoulders in an I-don't-know way.

"You have a point. But how will we justify my presence here?"

"That I have yet to figure out. I will come up with an explanation though, that I guarantee. Anyway, first things first. I need to find you some proper clothes. That should take a while. You can take a bath or rest, but please, no matter what you do, do not leave this room"

I feel like a freak of nature.

"All right", I casually throw and nod understandingly.

She casts a final apologetic glance upon me and exits the cold chamber, her skirts making a swishing sound as she moves.

Not giving myself time to think and therefore break down, I get up and walk hesitantly towards the bathroom.

Right now, I really miss the twenty-first century.

Bathroom is probably not the most felicitous term I could use. Suffocating, tiny chamber with a tub is much more applicable. If I actually had a choice I would never bathe in that timeworn trough but I desperately need to get that dirt off of me. With a fatalistic sigh, I take my muddy clothes off and start washing myself as well as I can. The water is cold, making me cringe as it runs down my hair and my body, but it helps my mind sober up. Ι rub the mud off of me in abrupt, determined moves as if I actually rubbed off my misfortune and insecurity, as well.

When I am finally done, I get up and take a deep breath, which is cut short by an unpleasant realization. I have no clothes! And my jeans and tank top are way too filthy to wear again.

Okay, no need to panic. I look around, in search for some piece of clothing and spot a towel hanging from the door.

With a sigh of relief, I clutch it and wrap it tightly around my body. As I open the door and leave the humidity of the bathroom, the hair on the back of my neck prickles, and an unwelcome tremor passes through me. Drops of water fall off of my hair and on the wooden floor, forming a wet trail as I walk.

The first thing I notice is the pile of dresses and petticoats on the bed. Looking at them in surprise, I can't help but think that I'll never manage to get dressed all by myself.

"Can I take a look at your wound?", I hear a gentle voice ask and I look up, to find out that it is none other than Katrina.

"Sure"

I extend my arm and let her clean and bandage the cut.

"Is it just me or doesn't your boyfriend like me much?", I carelessly ask, just to break the silence.

She ties the bandages a little too tightly and clears her throat.

"My what?"

"Umm… your fiancé? Crane"

"Oh" She laughs anxiously and makes a dismissive gesture. "Don't feel offended. This is simply his way. He's quite a gentleman, really. He's not my fiancé, though", she states with a somewhat forced smile.

"He's not? Seemed to me like you're kind of… an item"

"No, not at all."

Yeah, right. If 'not at all', then why all the sudden blushing? Anyway, I suppose it's none of my business, really.

"He doesn't know about you, does he?"

"No. And to answer your following question I believe I can make him accept what he saw today one way or another. What he has experienced these past few weeks is even odder"

I arch an eyebrow and smile. I do not fully understand, but at that point I don't really want to know, either.

"Can you help me get dressed?", I ask her with a pleading look.

She nods kindly and goes for the petticoats.

I have to admit, I had always been fond of old-fashioned dresses. What I ignored, was the fact that they are extremely uncomfortable. I let out a choked gasp as Katrina ties the laces of my corset and soon, I realize in horror that this is how I will constantly feel. Like I'm choking. I get into a low-necked, light blue gown with tight, elbow length sleeves, trimmed with frills. And last but not least, the shoes. I throw my red tennis shoes under the bed and put on a pair of grey and rose striped pumps with curved heels.

Katrina adds the final touch by tying my hair up, in a strict, elegant bun.

Once I'm done, I look in the mirror. A laugh of disbelief escapes my lips and I place a hand in front of my grinning mouth. Even in school plays, I didn't dress like this. I straighten my skirts and turn to the side. To be honest, I kind of like the way I look. God help me though, I don't know how I will be able to move beneath all these layers of fabric.

"Any bright ideas about our… issue?", I ask Katrina, still gazing at the mirror.

"I actually thought of something, yes", she cheerfully announces, while folding a petticoat and stuffing it in a drawer.

"And…?"

"Well", she starts, clasping her hands before her chest. "Young Masbath's father has been murdered recently and he has no one to look after him. If you wish to take him under your wing, I can present you as a distant aunt from New York who has no knowledge of the town"

"That last part is not far from the truth", I comment absentmindedly.

"What do you think?", she asks me gravely.

Well, a couple of days ago I was planning to go to college and now I have to look after a kid I don't even know. Not really my thing. Still, what choice do I have?

"It sounds convincing", I eventually throw with a shrug of my shoulder. "But why not say that I'm just a maid?"

She tilts her head and presses her lips in a grimace of modesty.

"Make you clean for us after condemning you in a century you don't belong? How is that proper?"

"Trust me, this was not only your fault", I bitterly reassure her, as the memory of my heedlessness strikes me.

Both of us being lost in our own thoughts, we say nothing for a minute or so. Suddenly, Katrina looks out the window. Her jerky move makes my head turn unconsciously, too. The night has fallen for good and I can see smoke coming out of most of the chimneys. The image warms my heart and I almost feel delighted.

Almost…

"It is time for dinner", she informs me firmly. "Take your time and join us downstairs, whenever you're ready. You are going to meet my father and my stepmother, too"

Me? In a formal eighteenth century dinner? Tonight?

That is bound to be a sight to see.

"All right", I say almost in a whisper and shift in uneasiness. No matter how much I don't want to do this, it's not like I can actually make that decision. Besides, Katrina has treated me with more than enough kindness and does all she can for me, that I have to acknowledge.

She turns to leave but suddenly, she halts for a second.

"I'll search through my books for a spell. Thoroughly. You have my word"

Before I get the chance to say anything, she exits the room and closes the door lightly behind her.

Finally being alone, I let out the deep breath I've been holding back unconsciously and fall back on the bed. Suddenly, I feel a lump in my throat and the walls close in on me. As the first sob shakes up my body and finds its way to my eyes, I know that my mind is now sober. The tension has resolved, the danger has passed and I'm left with the painful realization of what has happened.

Ugh! The hell with it! Things could be much worse. At least I have a place to stay and someone to count on. I know Katrina caused this and even though I didn't let it show, I feel… Uh, I don't want to say angry because it's not true. I don't know… ill-fated… bitter…

Sigh. At least she makes an actual effort to help me stand on my feet!

Yeah, I know and I appreciate that. I'm not that much of a bitch…

But damn, I don't want any of this! I don't want to live here! I don't want to start over! I wanna go home! Home…

Dammit!

The knot in my stomach tightens dangerously as I think about everything I love, everything I'll have to do without, everything I miss. And my heart beats crazily at the thought of everything I'll have to get used to, everything I'll have to deal with, starting from tonight's dinner… Desperation fills me up and I start to lose control. It's all so sudden and unexpected and… surreal that my mind won't even process it. What I know that I have to get all this tension out of my system. So what if crying won't change anything? So what if I'll hate myself for being so pathetic later? This is more than I can take, really.

I turn around, so that I lie on my belly and burst out in tears on the white sheets, muffling my sobs on the pillow. My whole body shudders intensely and my hands curl into tight fists. I haven't cried like this since I was little, but it is so liberating.

When there are finally no tears left to shed and I feel like I'm going to faint, I turn around with my eyes closed and wait for my ragged breath to become normal. With a final sniffle, I get up and look in the mirror again. The image I eye is so odd that my heart almost skips a bit. Nothing around me, not even my clothes, belongs to what I grew up with, what I knew to be normal, and yet it's still me. Same dark eyes that hide so many fears and questions. Same auburn hair. Same thin lips. But I just don't belong. In fact, I think that once I get downstairs to that goddamn dinner, everyone will burst out in laughter at the sight of me, pretending to be someone I'm not.

Or are they?

Only one way to find out…

I stare at the door for a while, my heart pounding crazily and I feel like something terrible will happen any minute now, which I guess is kind of ridiculous but still… Maybe it's just the thought of the inescapable. I won't be able to stay here for long and the thought terrifies me.

In an outburst of tension, I take two long strides towards the door and get out, shutting it closed behind me with abnormal determination.

Am I actually doing this?

Once I get downstairs, I roam around for a while, trying to locate the dining room. Not an easy task, considering the size of the mansion. The never-ending maze of hallways fascinates me and I feel a scanty willingness to explore the heavily decorated estate, take a peek behind all these doors. I suppose I'll have all the time to do that later…

When I finally find my way to the dining room, I come to a halt. The door is closed, but I hold no doubt that it is the right one. I can hear an unidentifiable humming of voices, their tones rising and falling, yet never completely fading.

Poking about the house, I had managed to calm down but as I stand before the door, my agitation strikes back. I don't want to do this. Yeah, I know I've already said that like a hundred times, but right now I mean in more than ever.

I can leave. If I do this the right way, I will manage to sneak out without anyone noticing. Maybe I'll take some food from the kitchen, too, on my way out. Just to make it through the night… By the time they realize I'm gone, I'll already be in the woods… And I don't really mind spending the night there. Actually, I've already done it, once. Yeah… a few hours ago!

What am I even thinking about?

Chuckling at my paranoia, I lightly knock on the door and push it open. Apart from Ichabod, Katrina and young Masbath a man and a woman - presumably Katrina's family- also sit at the table. Everyone turns to look at me, honest curiosity displayed clearly across their faces.

Oh God, they know.

A hand pulls me from the elbow and I jolt out of my daze. Katrina smiles meaningfully and urges me to walk inside, her hand tapping me encouragingly on the back.

"Ms Masbath!", the chubby, middle-aged man exclaims as he gets up and makes his way towards me. I stand stupefied for a moment, before I realize that 'Ms Masbath' is actually me. "I am Baltus Van Tassel and this is my dear wife, Lady Mary Van Tassel", he continues, gesturing at a beautiful, blonde woman behind him.

"I am happy to make your acquaintance ", I stutter.

"Please have a seat", he requests and Katrina rushes to usher me to a chair next to her step-mother. I smile detachedly, as I sit down, trying to reassure her that I can handle this.

With a deep breath, I pick up my table-napkin and place it partly open across my lap.

So… they don't suspect a thing?

Ugh, what's the matter with me? It's not like it's written across my forehead!

Ichabod starts talking about an unknown matter I probably cut off when I came in but I don't pay much attention. Instead I focus on my plate, chewing and gulping tiny bites of my roast beef every now and then, in spite of my bad appetite.

Alright, maybe I can do this. If I just smile a lot, throw a trivial comment every now and then and pray no one addresses me, I'll make it through the evening and finally collapse on my new bed, with some dignity.

"So, Ms Masbath, I've been told you've come to Sleepy Hollow to raise your nephew, is that right?"

Dammit.

My heart skips a bit and I stare at Lord Van Tassel for a while, unable to form a word. Katrina, sensing my panic, nods encouragingly and although the gesture is discreet, some boldness is restored in me.

"Yes, sir", I finally say, thankful that my voice came out firm.

"Such a kind thing to do!", he comments "But weren't you afraid to settle here, now that our town is terrorized by the Headless Horseman?"

The Headless. What?

"I… I have not heard of any Headless Horseman", I stutter with a little chuckle, unable to understand.

"No one informed you about the fashion of your cousin's murder? Inconceivable!", Lord Van Tassel exclaims almost indignantly.

Right.

Am I on an acid trip?

"A Headless Horseman? Pardon me, sir, but even if someone had actually spoken of such a thing, I would have considered their words highly unreliable"

"This is no lie, young lady. The Horseman is real; mark my word"

My doubtful look encourages him to continue.

"The Horseman was a Hessian mercenary sent to the shores to keep Americans under the yoke of England. But unlike his compatriots who came for money, the Horseman came… for love of carnage… And he was not like the others…"

Ichabod shifts in uneasiness, his lips tightened and his eyes troubled.

I sit back with a puzzled look on my face, still staring at Lord Van Tassel.

Everyone seems to have heard the story before.

"He rode a giant, black steed named Daredevil. He was infamous for taking his horse hard into battle; chopping off heads at full gallop. To look upon him, made your blood run cold, for he had filed down his teeth to sharp points, to add to the ferocity of his appearance. Having slaughtered his path across these grounds, he finally met his end in the winter of seventy-nine, not far from here in our Western Woods, by a group of soldiers. They cut off his head with his own sword… To this day the Western Woods is a haunted place, where brave men will not venture… for what was planted in the ground that day was a seed of evil. And so it has been for twenty years. But now the Hessian wakes; he seeks revenge. A head for a head… This is why Constable Crane is here… This, is how Jonathan Masbath was killed"

Wha-?

But I was…

A few hours ago…

The tree…

"Have you heard the story before?", he asks interestedly, obviously perplexed by my troubled silence.

"No" I shake my head negatively as if to stress my statement.

"That is the truth; and truth it will always be. Do not fool yourself. And be wary; No one knows when or for who he will come next time"

And to think that I was worried about living here before… Is that their idea of greeting guests?

"But how can you be so sure of that? Has anyone actually seen him?"

"Everyone on this table can confirm my words, for everyone has seen the outcome of his evil deeds"

I look at Katrina, who stares at her plate and then at Ichabod, seeking an inspiriting gesture, a cheerful look, something that will offer the tiniest hint of consolation. Instead, all I get is a serious nod that reassures me that everything Lord Van Tassel said is, indeed, true.

And I believe them. Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn't, but now I believe them. What do I have to lose? How more shaken can I get?

A lot I suppose, if I actually see the… Horseman… but yeah, you get it. My whole worldview got erased in just a night. Show me a talking leek and I'll accept it without a word. This is how stable my mind is, right now.

Woo-freaking-hoo!

"Ah, but it is not proper to scare our guest at the night of her arrival, my dear, especially at dinner", Lady Van Tassel intervenes slyly.

Too late for that.

"My apologies, Ms. Masbath. But I thought you ought to know. Anyways, taking into account the state of the village at the time, I ask you to stay with us, at least until the case is sorted out. It is not wise for a young lady, who is new to this town, to live all by herself; not with the Hessian threatening to strike back any time now"

I give a half smile at Katrina who nods meaningfully in return. This is obviously her doing.

I cock my head to the side and smile as kindly as I can.

"I'd love to stay with you. Thank you, sir."

The rest of the evening passes by in a more relaxed climate but I never manage to soothe myself completely and I keep wondering how everyone else seems so careless.

Maybe they've gotten used to this. Maybe they find denial satisfying. And who's to blame them? I can already picture their reactions after a murder. Panic, shouting, the town going loud, insane… and then nothing. Silent fear… Acceptance… Tolerance… Twisted tranquility while death hangs above their heads…

Our heads…

When I finally get to lie on my bed, I realize in frustration that even though my body is exhausted my mind is wide awake. I spend most of the night, turning from the one side to the other and the few hours of sleep I manage to get, are filled with nightmares of the Western Woods.

_I am still there. The wind blows wildly, making the dead leaves fly and form all sorts of shapes and figures. I run, looking for a way out but the faster I go, the thicker the forest becomes. The leafless trees keep spinning around me… Or is it me that spins? It doesn't matter, for I can hear the whinny of a horse. Terrified, I try to scream but no sound escapes my lips. I turn around, to see who is behind me, even though I already know. The faded galloping of a horse is heard and although I am scared out of my wits, I stand still, waiting to see. _

I jolt awake before anyone appears though, and sit up on the bed, my arms wrapped around my body.

It is still nighttime. The fire in the stove has burnt out and I shiver, due to both the cold and the fear.

I sigh in relief and throw the covers off of me, in order to get up. In the dark, I trip on my ridiculously long nightgown and fall down, on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Ouch.

Embarrassed, even though thankfully no one was here to see that, I get up and straighten my skirts with a hopefully dignified look on my face.

My eyes fall on the bottom drawer of the closet and I silently approach it and open it, taking out my cell phone and earphones which I had hastily tossed inside.

I stare at them for a while, an ironic smirk coloring my features. In a way, my cell phone is like me. It does not belong here.

I'll keep it close. I won't show it to anyone. It will make me remember… It will prevent me from fooling myself, actually believing that I'm a part of this…

I know; my little attitude won't help me fit in. So what? I never asked for this! And I certainly do not need it…

I drag my sore feet across the room and climb on the bed again. Putting on my earphones, I rest my head against the window and gaze outside at the eerily beautiful view, the town has to offer.

God, right now, I loathe the fact that it's so beautiful. I just… I need to hate on something. I want something to be as horrible as the state of my mind. I want to know that I have the right to be mad, furious with someone other than myself.

But I don't. Because everyone has been so... kind to me.

Ugh, what's wrong with me? When did I become such a horrible person?

Maybe I shouldn't think about it now. Or… you know… not think about it at all. I can just keep looking outside the window and count the stars or whatever you're supposed to do when you're emotional. And who knows? If I'm lucky enough, I might actually catch a glimpse of the oh so evil Horseman…

You know what? I'd better not think about that, either.

I keep listening to my music until I eventually fall in the sweet, calmative embrace of sleep again.

And I wonder what's in the new day for me…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to MonstarzGirl and Hessianlvr92 for reviewing!**


	5. Another Day, Another Kill

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming  
>Or the moment of truth in your lies<br>When everything feels like the movies  
>Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive<br>_Iris - Goo Goo Dolls

* * *

><p><strong>Katrina's POV<strong>

It is early and eerily quiet. The reflection of the pale morning light against the window illuminates the room and blinds me, creating the illusion of a warm, sunny day, behind the thin curtains. But, of course, that could not possible be. I should know…

Ichabod is sitting right in front of me, nibbling on his suffused with marmalade slice of bread, consumed in his ledger. I swallow a wave of upheaval and lightly shake my head. Trying not to give myself away, I pick my book up off the dining table and try to engage in it. Or rather, pretend to be engaged.

So many thoughts whirl in my mind. Fears, worries, unasked questions and all of them topped by that unprecedented, flooding sensation that suffocates me, dulling my reflexes and whetting my inhibitions. The one I always get when Ichabod is close. The one I long for…

The soft thump as he closes his ledger, discreet but perceptible enough to make me notice, kicks an inebriating jolt through my stomach, warming every nerve. I bury my face further into my yellowish pages, dismissing the "purpose" behind his gesture as wishful thinking. I try to take in the words, that seem to have lost all meaning, but to no avail. My eyes keep sliding off the pages, the letters blurring into indistinct lines. Eventually, I raise my head, only to realize in dumbfounded animation that his gaze is fixed on me.

I look back at him, my lips curled into a ghost of a smile, that slowly fades away as his soft scowl reassures me of what it about to come.

His queries…

"So, Ms. Robinson will stay here…"

It is more of a question than a statement and I know what it is leading to. I have been thinking about it, processing it through the entire night, afraid to close my eyes just for a while. Does it really matter, though? It is as painful and guilt-ridden as I though it would be.

"Why, yes, she will. I figured it would be for the best. If not for her, then surely for us"

"For us?"

His brows furrow even more in an expression of puzzlement.

"We should be the only ones to know. And… well, she will probably have difficulties adjusting to this… situation"

"This situation", he repeats numbly, his finger drumming lightly on his chin. I understand he is not in the least satisfied with my answer.

"But I do not understand the reason behind your amity. Not that I have any right to be involved, but, isn't the fact that you introduced her to your family as young Masbath's family a tad bit _precarious?_"

I close my book and lean back on my chair. There are moments, just like this one, that his behavior baffles and bedevils me. He shows concern and yet proliferates the distance between us simultaneously. Do I see more than there is here? Can I be so wrong about him, thinking that he sees me as more than an acquaintance?

"I simply wanted to forestall any further turmoil. The town is not prepared for something like this. Not now. Or rather, not at all. This should be kept a secret and the only way for that to happen is keeping Linda close"

"I see", is the only thing he says.

He opens his ledger again and we fall back in silence for a few never-ending seconds. Uncomfortable, intimidating silence. And to make matters worse, his sharp intake of breath makes me aware of his pestering feelings.

"Ah, but I never believed in time-traveling", he huffs out, seemingly indifferent.

That is precisely the statement I was afraid of. Not because he holds doubts - if I know one thing about him, it is that he mistrusts all paradoxes - but because I will have to withhold the truth from him. _Again. _And for some reason, I find that revolting.

"Well…", I begin, shaking my head hesitantly, " neither you, nor anyone else in the Hollow for that matter, believed in dead German soldiers rising from their graves in pursuit of heads a few weeks ago, but I guess there is more than meets the eye in this world"

He arches a brow and looks me dead in the eye for a while, without saying a word, his expression a mix of puzzlement and amusement. My cheeks burn under his stare and my eyes glance shamefully at anything but him.

"I suppose you are right"

He does not deserve this. He may try to keep his posture but I can tell his confrontation with the Horseman has done more than scare him. His beliefs are shattered; his disdainful notions towards the supernatural enfeebled. And instead of being forthright with him, I choose to keep him in the darkness. No, he does not deserve it. If there is one person I want to share my secret with, it is him. But it cannot be. For now, he knows enough.

The harrowing silence is interrupted by the sound of heavy, ardent steps entering the house, but my sigh of relief is cut short by my father's ghastly statement.

"Murder! Murder! The Horseman's killed again!"

* * *

><p><strong>Linda's POV<strong>

"Linda! Linda!"

The dainty, discomposed voice draws me slowly out of my doze and I sluggishly open my eyes. I blink a couple of times, trying to adjust to the pale light that enters through the window and blinds me.

Nah, it's much better when I close them. I let out a sleepy yawn and bury my face in my warm, squishy pillow, again.

Five more minutes, Ι beg…

"Linda! Please wake up! Something terrible has happened"

"What?", I groan crabbily and make an attempt to sit up.

Katrina. Dammit, it wasn't a messed up dream, after all.

"A new murder…The Horseman."

A slap across the face or a bucket of cold water wouldn't manage to wake me up as effectively as this statement.

"Oh God", I stutter as I clumsily get up. "Who-?"

"Andrew Killian. His brother's family has recently been murdered, as well", she lisps, trying unsuccessfully to maintain the firmness in her voice.

I stare at the floor for a while, my expression one of pure misery.

"Linda…? What's the matter?"

What's the matter? I wish I knew…

"It's just… I don't know, Katrina. I don't know!", I weep.

"What don't you know?", she concernedly asks, taking a few cautious steps towards me.

"I don't know… what is going on. I mean, everything's happening so fast and I don't have time to process it and it all feels like a never-ending rollercoaster ride, right now" With that I let out a dismissive chuckle. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so not making sense right now"

"I understand", is the only thing she says, even though I highly doubt that she believes it.

I turn around and look outside the window. It is quite misty but I can make out a bunch of people gathered outside a nearby house and Ichabod heading towards them, carrying a large, black bag.

And that is the moment I realize what is really going on here. Last night felt… distant. But now, I understand how close death actually is.

Too damn close.

I must have said that last bit out loud, because Katrina casts a bewildered look upon me.

"I think I'll go take a look", I state bluntly, still gazing outside.

"Are you sure? It is a rather gruesome sight", she warns me but I brush her warning off.

For some reason, I think that going there will be the wake up call I need.

"Yeah", I throw reassuringly, even though I'm not quite sure that viewing a headless corpse is a good idea. "Don't worry about it"

She nods understandingly and exits the room in a haste.

I stare at the floor for a while, not thinking at all, before I scramble on my feet and start getting dressed.

Ten minutes later, I'm ready and descending the stairs, my nerves nearly broken from my stubborn attempt to lace my corset without going through the humiliation of asking Katrina again.

I practically run all the way to the front door and bump into Lady Van Tassel who happened to be the unsuspecting victim of hurricane Linda. Mumbling, an apology, I get out and head towards Andrew Killian's house in the same, feverous pace.

Once I get there, I anxiously make my way to the center of the group, pushing and passing by everyone who stands in my way. The throb in my pulse becomes all the more distinct as I get closer.

When I can finally see Ichabod, who has knelt over the corpse, I stop. For a moment, I can't comprehend what lies less than two feet away from me. Soon, however, my mouth goes dry and I feel like I got struck by lightning. Katrina was right. This is disgusting. I hate that I use such a harsh word but there is no better way to describe what I eye.

My eyes fall and stay involuntarily glued on the jagged cut of the neck, direct and scorched, which exposes the tube that was the poor man's jugular, his black, compressed windpipe and the broken bone that was a vertebrae. I allow a silent gasp to escape my lips and take a step back, eyes always fixed on the corpse.

This isn't a way to go… It is not a way to die…

Ichabod, sensing my presence, turns towards me without getting up and looks me dead in the eye.

"Ms. Masbath, are you all right?", he concernedly asks with a slight nod.

No, I'm not. But I never let him know. Instead, I turn around and dart towards the house again, my only purpose being to get as far as possible from this revolting scene of death.

Once I get inside, I dash upstairs and only allow myself to feel safe when I stand among the four walls of my room again.

Suddenly, my corset feels too tight and my legs unable to support me. I lie down on the floor and close my eyes, allowing a single cool tear to trail down my face. My breath comes out in ragged pants as I try to suppress my sobs and the crazy turning in my stomach.

"Damn those corsets", I breathe lightly and feel my forehead with my hand.

I'm not homesick. I'm not sad, either. I'm not sorry for the man who lost his life nor angry at the one who did this. I'm disgusted. And horrified.

Such kinds thoughts coming out of such a virtuous and self-denying person. Maybe I should feel disgusted with myself for being so selfish. Hey, look at me, creating a scene in the middle of a crime scene just because my oh so frail mind couldn't deal with a dead body!

You know what? It was the prompt slap that I needed. Because thinking about it, I realize that the source of my discomposure isn't a headless corpse. It's just me. Me, me, me. What's the matter with me? What do I need? Someone to scream 'suck it up!' in my face? Yes, I'm bitter. I'm confused. I'd rather not think about why this has happened. And yeah, I keep telling myself that it means nothing, because that's convenient. Immature but convenient. However, I can at least make an actual effort to get through it with a little grace and some needed dignity.

I let a couple of silent hours pass before I dare go downstairs again. Not really knowing what I'm supposed to do, I open a random door.

Αs it turns out, it's the office. This room lacks nothing of mansion's baronial essence. The walls are a very deep green and the wooden floor is covered by an igneous carpet. Two dark settees lie in the middle of the room and between them, a small coffee table loaded with a pile of books. Against the wall, on my right, there are two mahogany bookshelves, each on either side of the also mahogany fireplace surround. On the wall, over the fireplace, an enormous portrait of Lord Van Tassel depicts him in all his stiffness and nobility. Ichabod sits on the desk that is placed at the far, left corner of the study, a few put out candles surrounding what I suppose is his journal.

He doesn't seem affected by my presence in the least and I'm not even sure he knows I'm here.

I hesitantly approach a wide window and look outside, at the abandoned street, my hand playing nervously with a leaf of the medium sized sycamore that is placed on the broad window pane. I suspect that my presence is unwanted but in all honesty, I really need to feel someone near me, right now.

Casting occasional, uncertain glances at the troubled looking man, I try to study him as discreetly as I can. He has nothing of the masculinity and roughness of most of the villagers I saw, but he is nonetheless charming. His thin, well-defined features accent his dark, brimming eyes, that narrowed and puzzled as they are, make him seem too solemn, whereas his brown, slapdash hair give him a more unattended and boyish look. An image of contradiction he is and I have a hunch that this does not only apply to his looks. He appears to be unlike most people here. He has another quality, a different, almost detached aura.

I uncomfortably shift my weight from one foot to the other, weighing my options. Should I bother him or just go?

"I always thought that the good ones win in fairytales", I eventually throw, my voice deliberately careless.

"In all seriousness Linda, do you consider this to be a fairytale?", he asks, not caring to take his eyes from his notebook.

"I don't really know what to believe anymore", I answer honestly.

He lifts his head and gives me a baffled look. I shrug my shoulders in response and sit in a nearby armchair, stretching my legs in front of me.

"Forgive me", I rush to correct "I speak of fairytales while a murder has just been committed"

"It is understandable. Your position is quite… high-strung", he replies, struggling to find the right words. His eyes fall on his notebook again, but then he looks up once more. "I don't know what Ms. Van Tassel has told you, but for quite some time I've wavered between reason and witchery, as well. I have yet to restore peace in my mind, but if I've learnt one thing, it is that downright logic does not necessarily entail enlightenment"

"So what is your advice?", I ask amiably.

"I have no advice to give you. But consider what I've said to be words from a man who did not know and is still not sure of what to believe, either"

I drag my legs back lazily and arch a brow.

"Are you talking about the Horseman?", I ask, my expression getting serious again.

"Of course"

I softly place my hand on the arm of my armchair and look down, stroking the velvet material with my index finger.

I suppose it's time to talk about it, after all.

"How many people has he…?"

"Decapitated?"

"Yeah. Decapitated", I repeat, unconsciously stressing the word.

He suddenly stiffens up and clears his throat in uneasiness.

"Ten. A child among them", he finally answers.

"Why?", I ask, horror making my voice falter.

"If only I knew"

"You've seen him, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes", he states abruptly, seemingly busy with his notes, again.

What is it with people avoiding to talk about that matter here?

My curiosity feels like a bad itch, but I can tell Ichabod doesn't want to and probably won't talk about it any further, as he replies as briefly as possible. But you know what they say; bad news spread immediately, so I suppose I'll find out more about the Hessian soon, for better or for worse.

I get up slowly and turn to leave the room, but his voice stops me.

"Linda…?"

"Yes?'

"Could we… perhaps… discuss later about the twenty-first century? What year is it-?", he asks, snapping his fingers in an attempt to remember.

"2011", I fill in.

"2011", he repeats, astonished "I am very interested in learning more about it"

I arch my brows and brush some invisible dust off of my skirts. I knew I'd have to answer such questions, sooner or later.

"Yes… yes of course", I retort casually and turn on my heel to leave the room.

As I close the door behind me, I think about all that I have yet to see. This is the strangest thing that has ever happened to me, but I think it's starting to sink in, the key words being 'I think'.

But, hey, I made my decision. I'll actually make an effort… Even if just thinking about it, hurts…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey, that was a quick update! At least by my standards... Oh well... Once again, thanks to bleach102 and Monstarzgirl for reviewing :) Aaand I don't want to spoil anything but, yes, there will be romance between Linda and ****and the Horseman as indicated in the summary ****:D**


	6. The Funeral

_Hold me now  
>I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking<br>Maybe six feet  
>Ain't so far down<br>_One Last Breath - Creed

* * *

><p>Staying in the shadows of the hallway, I try hard to find perfectly logical reasons not to get out of the house.<p>

Too hard, I'd say.

Why you may ask?

I don't know. Yeah, such an original answer for me. But for reasons I cannot explain, I feel like a set of eyes is continuously glued on me, examining me, wanting to know every little thing that concerns my existence.

But then again, does that make much sense? The whole village has gone frenzy with the new murder and I don't think anyone would care about me. Besides, the story Katrina made up for me has been tested and proven to be believable. So, for the time being, I'm safe.

…as safe as one can be with a serial killer in the woods near their house.

Images of rolling heads flash before my eyes, and I touch my throat by instinct. Disgusted with myself, I shake my head and dash towards the front door.

I need to get out of here, before I turn into a psychopath.

It is chilly and foggy outside, and there are no people on the streets. Not much of a surprise, really.

Gazing across the street, I spot young Masbath sitting on an improvised bench, playing with a little wooden stick in his hand. If I were to use one word to describe this kid, it would have to be melancholy. He didn't say or do anything to express it, but it is clearly displayed across his big, dim eyes. And who's to blame him? Losing your only relative is definitely devastating. Being alone for good and in such a tender age…

I wonder if I can relate…

Well, no… I don't know… Sort of… I mean, my relatives haven't even been born yet, so I can't really mourn.

I can't believe I just formed this sentence. Wouldn't it be disturbingly mind-blowing if I actually was my mother's great great great (and so on and so forth) grandmother?

Okay, I'm babbling again…

You have to admit, though, I'm a hell of a caretaker. The child probably needs someone close more than ever, and I wouldn't even remember if I didn't actually happen upon him.

I gingerly approach him and sit next to him. He shown so reaction.

"What are you doing?", I ask him, trying to sound upbeat.

"Nothing really", he retorts indifferently. "Constable Crane dismissed me for the day and I have nowhere else to be"

"Constable Crane? Are you his helper?", I ask interestedly, trying to bring up a subject.

"Sort of"

"Do you like working with him?"

"I suppose it is alright"

Ookay.

…

Maybe if I tried a different approach…

"Are you all right?", I ask with sincere concern this time.

"Yes", he replies but he doesn't manage to convince me. I understand that he might not feel comfortable with me, but I'm determined to make him talk to me. The way things are now, he is probably the closest I'll get to having a relative.

"I don't want to say that I know how it feels, because I don't. You know… About your father… I'm sure you've heard condolences hundreds of times, anyway", I state seriously, cutting to the chase.

I don't even need to elaborate more on the subject.

"I'm afraid you're wrong, ma'am"

I can tell I hit a nerve and I like that. Seeing him react, gives me a sense of indulgence, for I managed to read him, extract some sort of backlash.

"How come?", I ask feigning aloofness, to urge him to speak.

"Do you think it odd?", he asks back, turning marginally on his seat to look at me for a second, before going back to observing his little stick. "This is simply the way it is. The Horseman comes, kills and goes. People hurt, mourn and grieve. Then everyone circles back to what they do"

"But so does the Horseman"

He shrugs his shoulders, in an almost indifferent manner. I guess things are quite simple for him. And why shouldn't they be? We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented, after all.

I let a few silent moments pass, before I speak again.

"Well, I didn't come here to talk to you about the Hessian. Maybe I have not experienced the death of my family but I know what it's like to know that I won't see them again", I let him know, hoping that I can provide him with a little compassion,

"It feels like a part of you gets ripped off and it's replaced by misery", he fills in quite aptly.

"So much that it almost hurts physically"

Masbath silently agrees. He tosses the rod away loathingly, as if it was the core of his misfortune. The splash it makes as it falls in a pond that last night's rain formed, scares off a couple of pigeons, and we indolently watch them fly away in the thin mist.

"Well, at least we have each other now", I gawkily state, trying to lighten up the heavy atmosphere.

"Are you really staying?", he asks almost surprised.

"Of course I am. You heard Katrina. I am your father's distant cousin from New York, your guardian"

"But I thought this would only be a cover"

"Nonsense. You're stuck with me, sir"

I smile slyly upon seeing him smirk. Little as the moment might me, it offers some much needed comfort.

"I've been told that the heartache will lessen in time. Is that true?", he queries.

"I don't know. But I'm not sure I _want _it to lessen"

He almost twitches and gives me a sideways look.

"You don't?"

"What? Forget my loved ones? Even the thought is terrifying"

He blinks a couple of times, thinking it over.

"It can't be worse than this", he finally states.

"I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe it does get better. I guess we'll have to figure that out on our own"

We spend the rest of the afternoon chitchatting, mostly about my life... My past… However, it is surprisingly easy for me to handle. And to be honest, I think this is the most fun I've had since I ended up here. Perhaps it's because I don't feel like I constantly have to follow a protocol when I talk with young Masbath. His offhand, unsophisticated questions make me smirk with amusement and I find myself giggling like a blockhead more than you'd think I should as I try to find answers that won't make him look at me as if I was an alien.

But all good things must come to an end. And my little break from the mystic climate of the Hollow and its headless ghosts is no exception.

I'm sitting back, elbowing the back of the bench as my hand supports my head and doing my best to analyze what an electric drill is - don't ask - when I hear it. And how could I miss it really? How could anyone in that godforsaken village miss it?

A woman's scream.

The shrill cry of pain buzzes me like an electric shock and for the tiniest moment I feel paralyzed. The dead silence afterwards leaves my heart pounding crazily and I feel the blood run cold in my veins.

If torment could be described in one sound _that _would be it.

I exchange a half confused, half terrified look with young Masbath. Trying to overcome my quiver, I jolt up on my feet and stop a passerby who seems to be rushing towards the spot where the scream was heard.

"Excuse me. Do you know what happened?", I ask the tall, skinny woman that stands in front of me. Startled, she goggles her small, wrinkled eyes before mumbling a reply.

"The Widow Killian. She has just come back from New York. Poor thing. Her husband's dead and she is the last to know in the Hollow"

"Poor thing, indeed", I stammer, my eyes trailing towards Killian's house.

"Aren't you the newcomer? Late Masbath's cousin?", she spouts in an almost disapproving manner, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"Yes. Linda Mas-"

"Save the introductions for later, lassie. Should you say something, say it to the poor widow", she obnoxiously interrupts me, her squeaky voice, hitting my nerves.

What a way to welcome someone…

I glance around, not sure of what to say, before I hear her call me, already stomping her way towards the house again.

"Do you have a mind to come?", she croaks wryly from across the street.

I bite back a brassy yet well deserved comeback and order Masbath to go inside. Crossing my arms defensively, I involuntarily follow the old magpie.

* * *

><p>The first few minutes are the worst ones.<p>

I don't even know why agreed on attending this visitation. It's not like I know the newly widowed woman or anything… And I'm not sure I am actually ready to handle a bunch of people casting sideways glances upon me and crowding me...

I kind of feel like an idiot, not knowing where to stand or where to look at and the fact that my stomach does panicking flips inside of me doesn't help at all.

I really wish Katrina was here right now.

A few older women approach me at some point, eager to introduce themselves and welcome me to the village. However, I can't help but sense a poorly covered pretension and gossip in their smiles and compliments. Or maybe it's simply my rapidly developed antisocial tendencies. Heh. Maybe, I've suddenly become too defensive, trying to convince myself that everyone and everything is against me so that I can give myself a lovely pity party. Either way, I try to be nice and I awkwardly manage to make a few new acquaintances.

As the group around me gradually dissolves, I feel like a fish out of water again.

Hands clasped nervously behind my back, I saunter through the house. The churlish woman that led me here, has left me at last. But to be honest, even though she irritated me, she made me feel like there was a purpose in me being here.

Warily walking around, I spot the widow - Johanna if my memory serves me well - sobbing her heart out in the parlor, surrounded by a few ladies. Their words of consolation sound like empty, meaningless echoes. But what are they to say in a situation like this, really? Or what am I to say? I've never been good at expressing sympathy.

The air is really stuffy in here and my temperature keeps rising and falling rapidly, but at least I can hide in the crowd.

Ugh, that's just ridiculous. Why do I insist on staying here when I clearly don't feel good about it?

You know what? I can just go. No one forces me to stay here. Except my consciousness. But I can ignore that.

I'll just slide silently towards the door and go home. Nonchalantly. Smoothly. Dignifiedly.

Hey, look! I came up with a bunch of adverbs to cover the fact that I'm thinking about running away again.

Sigh.

Cower away twice in the same day? Come on, I am better than that. Or at least I want to be…

Hiding behind a curtain seems like a plausible option, though…

"Why don't you go make some tea, lass? Make yourself useful?", calls a familiar, squeaky voice, somewhere near me.

Did I say that I preferred it when she was with me?

Yeah, scratch that.

Not a bad idea, though. I mean, sure, I can make tea. I _want _to make tea. It'll make me feel like I have a small part in this. The purpose I was talking about…

Trying as hard as I can, to form a grimace that resembles a smile, I agree and hastily make my way to the kitchen, stumbling through a jumble of whispers and condolences.

Humming an improvised melody to soothe my nerves, I get to work, carefully pouring the hot, steaming tea in the small cups which I then proceed to place on the trays that lie on the table.

And it's all good until… I spot a deep cut on the edge of the table, one that is sure to have been made by an axe. I jolt upon noticing it, spilling some tea on the tray consequently.

…And paranoia ensues.

Is this where Andrew died? Was the… the… the Horseman standing here? Like _here _here? Sword in hand and everything?

Okay, I need to calm down.

I cannot help but think about it, though. The scene just keeps coming to me… Killian's probable astonishment, certainly followed by panic and the final glimpse of horror and desperation in his eyes, seconds before his head rolled on the ground, only to be collected by the headless killer.

Will he be back?

Of course he will. Why wouldn't he be? Because I don't want him to? Hah. That would be convenient.

It doesn't really matter that everyone tries to keep their composure. They all know it. And I know it… now… So the question is not really _whether _the Horseman will come again but _who _will be next. Doesn't at least one of those folks outside this room, feel even remotely relieved it wasn't their or their family's head the Horseman came for, this time? Isn't there some remedy hidden behind their sympathetic looks and solacing words? Hasn't anyone ever thought "hey, that's just terrible, but better them than me" It can't be that no one else is ill at ease about that… Worrying about their heads and not knowing if they will be in one piece tomorrow.

Hell, I'm worrying, too.

A man walks unexpectedly in, drawing me out of my trance. Flinging a short-lived, embarrassed smile at him, I straighten my linen skirts and grab a rag from the counter behind me in order to wipe the spilled tea from the tray.

Enough with the woolgathering.

Shaking my head so as to disperse the brooding thoughts, I hastily move in and out of the kitchen filling cups, heating water, serving the guests. And I wish I could say that the task manages to occupy both my body and mind but my eyes keep falling on the carved spot of the table whenever I'm in the kitchen.

Dammit, why do I freak over a stupid mark? Who says the Horseman did this anyway? And so what if he did? I _don't want _it to affect me this bad.

What should affect me is the fact that the teapot is empty again. Right, I need to make more tea. Tea, tea, tea. Tea is good. And that should be all I think about. If I just manage to shut my brain down and move mechanically…

"Ms. Masbath? What are you doing?"

I turn around with jerk, my mouth hanging open. Lady Van Tassel, stands a few good feet away from me, her head slightly tilted to the side and her thin lips forming a little smirk.

I glance at the rag I hold in my hand, searching for a good answer in its brownish tea stains.

"Uhh… Well… Serving tea… I suppose", I finally stutter.

"Ah, you needn't do that, my dear. In fact, you had better return to the mansion. I suppose what you have seen today has only shaken you"

She lightly approaches me, raising her hand which, for a moment, curls with a tuft of my hair. Her move, gentle as it may seem, makes my stomach lurch and I look down in hesitancy.

"…Not that anyone could blame you for that", she continues. "You have come to Sleepy Hollow at a rather… pothering time"

"I-I've noticed"

Her hand falls slowly and she takes a step back.

"…And it would only be wise if you kept some distance from the town's unsettling events. A young lady should not be bothered with such dark issues nor exposed to such brooding images. Remember; young Masbath needs you close to him"

"Not to worry about that, madam. I am completely aware of my responsibilities", I unconfidently reply.

Her thin lips curl into a sly smile and she makes a sound of approval as her dark eyes scan me.

"That, I'm sure of. But I think you've done more than enough, here"

I look at the side, breathing out through my nose. I don't know what her point is, but there is something about her manner that makes me feel inferior to her. Her presence is almost hypnotizing and I find my guard lowering gradually.

"I just… I thought it only appropriate to offer a helping hand, however I could…"

Am I excusing myself? Why the hell am I excusing myself?

"You must not wear yourself out. No need to burn those delicate hands with the teakettle. Go. Have some rest. Your presence at the funeral should be more than enough"

Baffled as I may be, I only manage to shake my head in agreement and loosen my grip on the stained rag. Maybe she's right, anyway…

* * *

><p>Cold winter breeze, cloudy sky, muddy ground and grey. Lots of grey. It all looks like an old picture, its colors washed out and faded.<p>

The perfect setting for a funeral.

Do you know what they say? You can be surrounded by thousands of people and still feel all alone. I think I now understand what that means. The whole village is gathered over Andrew's grave, myself included, but I can only ignore their presence. The only thing I can concentrate on is the absence of life in front of me. The nothingness that has embraced the body that lies in the wooden coffin. The nullity that seems to have escaped the grave and engulfed everyone around it.

The preparations were quicker than I thought they would be. Five hours ago, I was serving tea in the widow's house and now Killian's buried and the ceremony is almost finished.

That last part, I'm grateful for. Because the harder I try to block out the widow's sobs, the clearer I hear them. It's not a cry. It's not a lament. It's just sorrowful tears and chocked back sighs.

Two rather sturdy women stand on each side of her like devoted guards, supporting her, both metaphorically and literally.

The sad part is, she's not what most people think a widow would look like. She's not some old, meager being, but a blonde, rosy-cheeked and very young woman who would probably be quite beautiful if it weren't for her puffy eyes and obvious tiredness.

When the funeral is finally over and the high-and-mighty reverend closes his Bible, everyone rushes to return to their homes as the sun is already setting. My feet unconsciously lead me in front of Johanna who keeps standing motionless over the grave. When she turns to look at me though, I don't really know what to say. An awkward 'my condolences' finally escapes my lips and she shakes her head in acknowledgement while mouthing a silent 'thank you'.

"You probably haven't seen me, before, as I'm new to this town. My name is Linda Masbath", I plainly add.

"Masbath you say?", she asks, narrowing her eyes in puzzlement.

I take a step back - a move I always do when I lie - and shake my head affirmatively.

"Jonathan Masbath's cousin. His son is now under my… custody" I close my statement with a gawky smile, a little muddled by the taste the word _custody _leaves in my mouth.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Humphreys mentioned you sometime earlier. Forgive me for what I am about to say, but welcoming you to the village would be a waste of breath. Who can ever feel welcome here with death hanging over their heads like a dead goose? Oh, you must already know… And your cousin… I've heard he… A couple of weeks ago… Ah, I take it that you probably understand my position", she mumbles.

No, I don't…

"Yes. Yes, I do", I reassure her, shrugging my shoulders. I feel a little guilty about being dishonest but a part of me wants to offer some compassion to her.

"Such a brave man…", she starts but another choked sob makes her voice fail.

"Oh, please. You don't have to…", I say quickly with a gesture of acknowledgment. "We'd better return to our houses. It's getting dark"

She looks around almost surprised by the fact that the sun has already set. The way she stares bluntly at the horizon makes her seem all the more small and lost. My sharp intake of breath jolts through her and she looks at me, her bloodshot eyes looking astonishingly tired.

"Goodnight, Ms. Masbath", she says almost in a whisper. "I wish we had met under different circumstances"

"So do I", I retort cordially.

And with that, we part ways.

As I walk towards the mansion, making each step deliberately as slow as possible as if to object to my growing unsettlement, the tragedy that has stroke the young widow makes my guts clench. Is she truly safe or was she saved from the Horseman's blade out of sheer luck? Is there a chance he might come back for her? But then again, why would I find it strange only if he was to come for her in particular? Truth be told, I thought about it at the ceremony… I looked at everyone around me but I couldn't imagine anyone in Andrew Killian's position.

I suddenly hear a swishing sound behind me and turn around in bewilderment, legs already prepared to run. To my relief and embarrassment, it is only a dead leaf, the air keeps lifting and throwing around.

I smile bitterly at my alarmed reaction and hasten my pace. One day in Sleepy Hollow and the town's legend is already affecting me…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to LilithMorte and MonstarzGirl for their lovely reviews! **


	7. A New Friend

_Even if I say it'll be alright  
>Still I hear you say you want to end your life<br>Now and again we try to just stay alive  
>Maybe we'll turn it all around 'cause it's not too late<br>It's never too late  
><em>Never too late - Three Days Grace

* * *

><p>The following two weeks roll by relatively quickly. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I was mistakenly jaundiced. After the funeral, I came to think that every day would be a living hell in this place, filled with headless apparitions, murders and interrogations…<p>

Oh well, the good news is, I was wrong. Not that things are actually good right now, but an eerie laggardness seems to have spanned all over the village, stifling every glimpse of extremity. That, I suppose is exactly what I needed but I sometimes find myself not feeling so appreciative of this dullness. Not that I feel bored or confined but… I don't know… Everything's calm. Too calm. And not in the peaceful, relaxing way. It feels more like a shadow of death, without death actually being there. Even the weather is no great shakes. There is neither snow nor rain, yet I haven't seen sunshine, either. Not too cold, not too hot. Just an unsettling mediocrity.

Unsettling… To be honest I only though it to be unsettling at first. My intuition kept telling me that this unexpected sea of calm was not a good sign. It was too much of a contrast, compared to the events of the previous days. But I gradually let myself sink, along with everyone else in the Hollow, in disregard, to the point that I've managed to turn the headless specter into nothing more than a shadow at the back of my mind. And, although I at first found this neglectful attitude bizarre, come to think of it, it suits me just fine. After all, it's a subject everyone avoids.

The only one who keeps reminding me of the Hessian is the troubled constable. Unlike everyone else, his absence only makes him more determined to disclose the culprit.

That's why I tend to avoid him…

I know, not a very sterling thing to confess, but at least it keeps me going. I try hard not to think about the Horseman, my home, or my situation… I just try to keep busy, follow a specific routine…

Every day I wake up at morning's first light and either help Sarah, the maid with the housework - much to Lady Van Tassel's dislike - or saunter through the village. However, I'm not particularly enthusiastic about that second activity anymore. Sleepy Hollow surely is a captivating sight but frankly, it's not that big a town. As for the idea of venturing into the Western Woods, it is inconceivable if not laughable. Add to that, the fact that I once overheard a bunch of old ladies call me 'a dowerless loafer' and you'll pretty much understand why I have cut down my strolls.

I spent most of my afternoons chitchatting with Katrina, whose company I always find pleasing, or helping young Masbath with his studies, an activity that always leaves me frazzled and antsy. It keeps me occupied, though and it helps my work on our relationship. After our talk at that bench I decided that if I'm to take one responsibility, it will be being there for the kid. Not that I'm really experienced with children. I just try to keep it simple, talk about insignificant things, the weather, books and if I'm sure no one's around, the twenty-first century. It is easier than I thought, anyway. Jonathan is quite amenable and dare I say that he is more mature than a lot of adults I've met in my eighteen years of existence.

And the evenings… The evenings are the hard part. The quiet, the calmative darkness, the inescapable lethargy… I know it's more than I hoped for but… it gets me thinking… Or rather moping over all the people and the things I miss. A part of me keeps thinking that maybe if I embrace this sweet, tempting sorrow, savor it and dip my soul into it, I'll eventually get over it and all will be good. But I never allow myself to cry. I'm too stubborn for that. Or, I don't know, maybe I find some twisted, self indulging pleasure in stomping on my own feelings and then laughing bitterly at the world because no one seems to understand the misery behind my bland expression.

Either way, I don't let my mind linger there for long. I go for distraction instead. And honestly, I don't even feel guilty. I'm probably wrong but the notion that I have to act like I actually belong here in order to maintain this seemingly fragile amity around me, keeps gaining ground on my perception.

* * *

><p>I casually walk towards the Van Tassel manor on a cloudy, December morning carrying a dozen bags filled with all sorts of groceries. The overwhelming weight makes my muscles burn and sweat runs down my forehead due to the effort, as I keep my quick pace. It was probably stupid of me to go shopping alone.<p>

Scratch that, it was definitely stupid. I would smack my forehead at the embarrassing memory of my struggle to make a proper transaction with the butcher if my hands were free.

Meh. At least we're eating chicken ribs tonight.

Eventually, when every step feels like an ordeal, I stop to lean against the church's wooden fence and put the bags down in order to catch my breath. I wipe my forehead tiredly and glance at the grey sky. If I didn't know better, I'd say it would rain. Too bad the weather is as changeable as a photograph…

"Hello, Ms. Masbath"

I turn to look at the one who called me, a frown wrinkling my forehead and my mouth hanging open. Not that pretty a face.

"Good morning Mrs. Killian", I exclaim merrily, wondering to myself if it was proper to address her by her married name.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. And you?", I ask back, my head unconsciously tilting in a sympathetic nod.

"Well, I'm managing"

I lock my hands behind my back and look around, smiling gawkily. Have I really forgotten how to socialize in the past few weeks?

"So, where are you off to at such an early hour?", she asks me heartily.

I glance at the bags I have left on the moist ground and pick them up hastily, my expression one of frustration and alarm.

"I was just - oh God, that's heavy - doing some grocery shopping", I state between ragged pants of breath. "How about you?"

"Oh, I was… at the church for my morning prayers. It's a habit I've been accustomed to since Andrew was… since he passed away. And I'm off to the cemetery to place a few daises around his grave. A lot of them grow around my house this time of the year. And they're beautiful flowers, don't you think Ms. Masbath? So small and frail, you'd think they wouldn't survive the frost and yet… Extraordinary, isn't it?"

I look at her a little overwhelmed, both due to the ample bags in my arms and her unexpected rumble. Not that I don't appreciate the fact that she's talkative - it covers for my suddenly developed speech impediment - but what I got from my first impression of her was that she was quite introverted. Then again, what did I expect? I met her after her husband's funeral for crying out loud!

"To be honest, what I find extraordinary is the fact that _anything _can grow around here", I throw lightheartedly.

Her nervous giggle makes me slightly uncomfortable and I force a kind smile.

"Ah, don't sell it short Ms. Masbath, Sleepy Hollow was not always the muddle it has come down to. You'd be surprised if you visited it a year or so ago. And pleasantly I can assure you. Well I shouldn't keep you from your tasks. Would you like to visit me for a cup of tea in the afternoon, though?", she suggests with a soft smile.

Her invitation finds me completely taken aback and for a few seconds I stare at her plainly. My initial reaction is negative but as I think about it, I can't find a decent excuse to decline the invite. Sarah can manage the dinner and Jonathan is done with his homework, anyway. I can just view it as a challenge; prove myself that I _can _lead a normal life here, if I choose to. Which I guess is ridiculous. Still, though, why say no?

"Well… I'd love to", I eventually manage to dribble with a sincere smirk.

"Lovely! I'll expect you at around five"

And with that we part ways.

* * *

><p>As the hours trickle along, I keep catching myself glancing at the clock more than I'd normally do. I don't know, for some reason I'm all pins and needles about this. Is it a step for me? Does it mean I'm starting to settle? Do I really want to settle here? For good?<p>

Uh, I wish my brain didn't go on an analyzing spree that often. I should just be glad I've been given the chance to make a new friend.

At around half past four, I start getting ready. Or rather, I start moving nervously around the room like a twister in hopes of finding my ribbon, my left rose pump and that pretty necklace Katrina has given me. Needless to say that once I'm ready, the room is unrecognizable.

Sheesh… I'll clean up in the evening.

I storm downstairs and make a stop at the parlor in order to collect my stole, leaving the room in the same woeful state. Damn it, it's like I've got some kind of talent in making a rat's nest out of everything. And I always make sure to do that in the most graceless way poss-

Turning around, I spot Ichabod at the doorway, staring at me in silent daunt.

Stupefied.

I huff out a bark of surprise and stare at him, rattled by his unexpected presence.

"Pardon my intrusion, I simply got alarmed by the… uh… noise" he eventually states, noticing the awkwardness of the situation.

Slightly cringing, I nod and blink in wonder.

He tightens his grip around the books he's holding and scowls in uneasiness.

"Is everything alright?" he asks looking at the mess behind me.

I shrug uncomfortably. Why wouldn't it be?

"Never mind. Are you going out? The weather's pretty bad", he queries interestedly.

"Yes, actually. I'm off to visit the Widow Killian"

"Oh"

The fleeting glimpse of suspicion is his eyes, barely there but nonetheless noticeable, is covered hastily by the ghost of a smile. For a second it seems like he's about to leave but then he turns to me again, clear distress displayed across his face.

"Yes…?", I goad guardedly.

"I did not... Ah... simply... be careful", he replies, forcing another smile.

The real meaning of this piece of advice comes clear as a bell to me. It's not a "be careful of the Horseman", it's not a "be careful of the wild air", it's not a "be careful not to tumble over your skirts and fall flat on your face". It's more like "be careful not to spill anything about time traveling and get us all into trouble".

He's right. He's one hundred percent right. And I hate that. Not that I didn't know that I'd have to be extremely cautious but somewhere inside me flickered the little hope that maybe I wouldn't always have to mind my distance; maybe it isn't such a big deal after all. But it is. And although I acknowledge it, I'm too selfish to let him know.

"Not to worry", I reassure him with a taunting smile "I'll be back before dinner. Au revoir!"

Before he has a chance to speak, I pass him by and exit the house.

Reaching the Killians' house, I nervously knock on the door and glance around me a little ill at ease as I remember the headless corpse that was lying where I'm standing.

_Exactly _where I'm standing.

…I wonder what's taking her so long…

Eventually, the door opens with a shrill squeak and the young widow greets me with a warm smile on her face. As she leads me inside, I take a look around me, examining my surroundings. Now, I know I've been here before but the house was practically crowded and I was too jittery to take in details.

Anyway, she leaves me in the parlor in order to go make some tea and I slump into a white armchair in the far corner of the room. The house is definitely smaller and more frugal than the Van Tassel estate but it is nonetheless warm and cushy. The low ceiling is wood-beamed and an igneous carpet with abstract patterns covers the also wooden floor. Actually, wood seems to be the dominant element of the house and I think that plays an important role in the cozy atmosphere. The fireplace on the right side of the room is lit, providing warmth and creating peculiar, grotesque shadows in the dark corners as the flickering flames cast their blazing light on the furniture. I lean back composedly and fix my gaze on the thrifty bookshelf next to the fireplace which currently accommodates more baubles and trifles than actual books. It's nice here.

"Sorry to be taking so long", I hear a voice from the kitchen "but would you believe I spilled water all over the floor"

I smirk amusedly as she enters the parlor again, holding a tray on which there are two cups, a teapot and a small plate of biscuits.

"Here", she offers me my cup and proceeds to place the tray gently on the small, coffee table in front of me.

"Thank you"

She slightly drags the emerald armchair behind her so that she sits closer to me and finally gets seated in it contently.

"So… how was your day, Mrs. Killian?", I ask cordially, not knowing what else to say.

"It was… all right, I suppose. Just the usual chores. Ah, work is a blessing, darling. It can make life much more tolerable But please call me Johanna. Aren't we too young to be addressing each other by these titles? I've always disliked being called Mrs. or madam… Especially now… My heart sinks whenever I hear someone call me by my married name"

"Well, then I cannot but request that you call me Linda. Anyways, how do you do? I've heard that you work as a nanny for the Browns"

"Yes, that's true. And I'm really glad about it. To be honest, I avoid sitting around as much as I can. Well… not that I have the chance to, anyway. Andrew and I did not have much of a fortune. He worked in our paltry cornfields this is how we got by. Just, but we did. Anyway, it was an occupation I could not sustain. A woman, alone, in a cropland? It cannot be. My only reasonable option was to sell everything, which seemed highly unlikely to happen as the hail had practically destroyed the crops. But thankfully, Lord Van Tassel showed mercy and bought the fields for a symbolic price. However, the small amount of money I gained was not enough. So I asked Mrs. Brown to hire me as a nursemaid and I've been working there ever since"

"So, you decided to settle here?"

"What do you mean? Sleepy Hollow has been my home for almost four years now"

"I just thought that you'd return to your family in New York. I know I would…"

"Sweetheart, my family's condition is even worse. If I returned, I would be no more than a liability and I _know _that as long as my father is in his right mind he will not let me work. So, I will not condemn myself in a lifetime of living as an expense for others and wallowing in self-pity. It's a decision I had to make and believe me it was a hard one. I never had to work before, let alone live by myself and manage financial issues. Sometimes I want to give up" she huffs out a nervous laugh and looks up with a bitter smile "You should have seen me discussing about the cornfields with Lord Van Tassel. To say that I was negotiating would be an overstatement. I was just listening to him in bafflement, talk about prices and taxes and half of it I did not even understand"

"Don't be too hard on yourself. I wouldn't manage to stand on my feet if I were you", I try to comfort her as I can see tears threatening to slide down her cheeks.

She sniffles and shakes her hand as if to shush me.

"Enough about me. I haven't heard much about you. How come you moved here?

Uh-oh, the two hundred dollar question. Okay, don't freak out; you've already memorized the story.

"Well, I… It's not much of a story really… My parents passed away when I was little and I was raised by some family friends. Once I turned eighteen, I felt the need to leave, stop being an expense for others, as you said, but I didn't really have any options. So as soon as I heard about my dear cousin's murder, I decided to take my nephew under my wing"

Wow. No, seriously. The way the words just flew out of my mouth so easily is disturbingly stunning. Really. That deserved a Golden Globe.

…At least I'm not proud of it. Because the more I talk, the guiltier I feel, which doesn't feel good, but at least I know I hold some remorse and thus, I'm not that horrible a person, right?

Right?

"Oh, that's a very noble thing to do. And how do you like Sleepy Hollow? From what I understood in the morning you're not that fond of it"

I take a sip of my tea and giggle guiltily.

"Oh no, I did not mean to sound sneering. It would be a very… nice place to live if it weren't for the… uh… you understand", I lisp and proceed to take another sip of my already cold beverage.

"Don't worry", she says with a smile "No one expects you to be glad you live in the Hollow. No one is, anyway. "

"But in the morning you mentioned that it used to be a merrier place. I take it that you hold the town dearly so as to say that even after the recent events"

She smiles bitterly.

"I do", she states unperturbedly. "I understand your difficulty to believe that it used to be a land of peace and quiet. Sometimes even I find it hard to believe"

The iridescent light makes her dark eyes flicker as she speaks avidly and her melodic voice falters as memories of better days inundate her.

"But I… I lived the best days of my life here. And I can never put that behind me"

"I beg to differ", I say timidly. "You are still young. You have the whole life in front of you. Perhaps those days weren't the best. Who knows? Life has been cruel to you, but you cannot turn your back on it. Sometimes, you just have to go with it… You have to move along"

She shakes her head, the bitter smile always curling her mouth.

"Have you ever loved a man, Linda? Have you ever felt that you cannot be whole if you do not give your heart to someone and share your life with his? That there is no one but him for you? That everything and I mean _everything _you had done in your life, every single event that took place, was only of some importance because it led you to him?"

"No"

"That was Andrew for me. Marrying him was the best thing that ever happened to me. I felt blessed. I _was _blessed. We didn't have much, but we had everything we wanted. And I believed… I believed nothing could ruin our happiness. And then he was taken from me. And I would lie, oh I would lie, if I said that I ever expected that to happen. Funny, isn't it? How blind one can be… Of course, the Horseman could go after anyone, but not us. He could have anyone's head, but he could not touch us… But when everything is taken from you and you have nothing to fall back on, how are you supposed to move along with life? I gathered all my might but it was not enough to make me feel complete. Andrew died, and so did a part of me"

She stops and looks outside. This time, she does not make an effort to control her trembling lips.

"A widow at twenty-two. What did I do to deserve this?"

I do not answer. And what am I to say, really? That I understand? I've never felt this way. That everything is going to be alright? That would be another lie and I think I've told enough for the day. But it's okay. She doesn't need empty words of sympathy; she's probably heard enough of those. Sometimes, all we need is someone to listen.

We spend the rest of the afternoon talking about more frivolous things, thanks to my awkward maneuvers, and before I know it, it is time to leave. However, we promise to meet again, soon. Βy the time I take off, I feel that this could be the beginning of a new friendship.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:Thanks to Monstarzgirl and noodle86 for reviewing!**


	8. A New Loss

_On the ground I lay_  
><em> Motionless in pain<em>  
><em> I can see my life flashing before my eyes<em>  
><em> Did I fall asleep?<em>  
><em> Is this all a dream?<em>  
>W<em>ake me up, I'm living a<em> nightmare  
>Time of Dying - Three Days Grace<p>

* * *

><p>It's early. The morning gleam filters into my room through the window, making a feeble attempt to warm my face. My snoozy sigh allows a chilly, biting intake of air to enter my nostrils and I bury myself under my warm, thick covers in order to fight off my unwelcome shiver. As my mind comes round, the memory of my ought stirs me up and I reluctantly roll out of bed.<p>

It's the first Sunday of the year and no matter how much I crave for more sleep, I know I must get ready for church. I stand up slowly, the feel of the cool, wooden floor beneath my feet sending vivifying waves to my body as I walk towards the chair my clothes lie on. I've always done that; picking whatever I was going to wear the night before. Neat and tidied.

I hastily remove my nightgown and begin dressing up, putting on my smock, securing my stays into place, throwing on my petticoats and lacing the strings of my silk, sack-back gown. My only formal gown. An aloof smile curls my lips as my fingers quickly draw the laces in a tight and firm manner. I've grown better at this…

I still find it hard to believe that I made it through the whole December. I still can't believe that it's 1800 already. And that I'm still here, functioning like a completely steady, tranquil, free from strife person. Moving onwards…

After washing my face, I brush my hair and tie it up with a cream ribbon. Ι stand before the mirror for a while, checking for any flaws. My outfit is beautiful and it would probably be prettier to me if it wasn't a hand-me-down… Just like the rest of my clothes. Perhaps I should consider having a gown sewn… When I actually start making money on my own… Oh well… Another half-smile and I'm out the door.

So, yeah, as you have probably guessed, nothing has really changed in those few weeks. Life goes on slowly… and steadily… and even boringly sometimes…

I'm glad for boring.

As for the Hessian? He has not come back. Yet. And everyone has grown complacent. If they had been avoiding the subject before, now they seem to have forgotten about it. And I think the celebrations of Christmas and New Year have played their part in that. The receptions held here, in the Van Tassel estate, were dazzlingly nifty, with the whole village present and having a great time. Encouraging speeches, dancing, more speeches… I think I would have reached the limits of my enforced happiness, if it weren't for Johanna.

At first, she declined the invitation but I swore I'd make her come, even if I had to drag her all the way from her house and eventually, she showed up. To be honest, we became close friends in a matter of days and I am more than pleased about that.

Sometimes, that's tempting… I find myself wanting to tell her… disclose my secret… I know I won't, though. It's just that… Sometimes, secrets can be like a disease, eating you from the inside, and you may feel like the only cure would be contaminating someone else, too.

I wonder if I'm making sense, when I say things like that. Well, not that it really matters. I know that as long as I understand, I'll be fine.

Entering the church, along with Katrina, I pace the corridor, the soft thump of my heels filling me with annoyance as I catch heads turning towards me, startled by the noise. I get seated on a pew somewhere in the middle and my eyes unconsciously scan the chapel, searching for those friendly umber eyes, but to no avail.

"Have you seen Johanna?", I murmur to Katrina who sits next to me.

Startled, she turns and leans towards me.

"No", she whispers back "Strange. She said she would be-"

An irritated shush somewhere behind us interrupts her and we fall back in silence.

I try to focus on the liturgy but I can feel the knot tighten in my stomach as the minutes pass. Johanna is deeply pious. There is no way she would miss this for no reason. I try to dismiss my unsettling thoughts, convince myself that she most likely overslept, but something rubs me the wrong way. I have a bad feeling about this. A premonition.

I go on with my routine for the rest of the day, trying not to think about the worst possible scenarios concerning Johanna. And I fail. Miserably.

Eventually, being fed up with my distress, I decide to pay her a quick visit, just to make sure… and find my composure.

Isn't it funny? Well, not for me but for any bystander who wouldn't have a part in this. How easily I let my guards down and play it cool, and yet, the tiniest incident that may seem out of the ordinary triggers a riot in my imagination? What if it was _him_? What if he came back? It doesn't happen consciously, but it is always in the corner of my mind and much to my dismay it is a clear indication that I never really felt safe. It was just the illusion of safety, a state of mind induced by my pestering need to know that everything's normal; one that I'll fall back into as soon as I see that everything's okay. Yeah, the human psyche is an amazing thing, so easily manipulated…

I dash my way to Johanna's house and ardently knock on the door, chuckling nervously. Two painful minutes later, it opens, revealing the ghost of her.

A startled "oh" escapes my lips as I stare at her dumbfounded. She is as pale as a sheet and her swollen eyes have bags under them. Her blonde, unnervingly tangled hair falls free around her shoulders, reaching down to her waist, tufts flying out towards all directions and her cracked lips match the deathly color of her skin.

After what I can only perceive as great effort, she manages to stop leaning against the door and huff out a croaky "hello Linda".

"Oh my… You- you're sick", I numbly state.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a petty cold. I must have caught it from little Stephen Brown", she weakly says, forcing a smile.

"Just… just a cold?", I reply, recovering from my initial shock. "Excuse me, but you look terrible"

"Oh, how kind of you to notice"

"This is no joke. Are you trying to kill yourself? You… you should have informed me"

"Oh, please. There was no reason to flurry you. I'm _just _fine. Really. All I need is a few good hours of re-"

Her rough cough cuts her off and it takes about thirty seconds until she's capable of speaking again.

"No reason, right?", I chaff, arching a brow.

"As I was saying", she continues seemingly unaffected "I think all I need is some sleep"

"Some sleep", I repeat with a stoic nod. "Do you have a fever?"

"I- I don't know…"

I approach her and place my hand gently on her forehead. The touch makes my guts clench. She's burning.

"Do you know what I think?", I ask firmly, trying my best not to let my worry show "I think that you are in no condition to stay alone tonight"

I top my statement with the most intimidating look I can pull off, just to make sure my point has come across and turn around, already heading towards the Van Tassel estate again.

"I'm going to inform everyone that I'll be gone for the night. You go back to bed. I'll be back in a few minutes"

"Linda, please. This is ridiculous…"

"Absurd, daffy and preposterous!", I yell from across the street, waving my arms in bogus apprehension. "Go inside for Christ's sake!"

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes, a good deal of pleading Lord Van Tassel and a couple of collisions with inanimate objects later, I am standing in Johanna's kitchen, figuring my way to making vegetable soup successfully.<p>

Yup. One of the things I loved about the twenty-first century was my 'Cooking for Dummies' book. And I guess that says more than enough about my culinary skills.

Nevertheless, I don't let these technical difficulties discourage me. I move as fast as my feet allow me to, maintaining the fire in the fireplace, holding compresses on Johanna's forehead, trying my best to save whatever can be saved from my dinner - at least what is not the lovely shade of onyx - and even doing some housework. And not without objections, of course. As much as I admire Johanna for her fortitude, I have to admit, she's one of those people that feel the need to apologize constantly and unnecessarily for the fear of being a burden to those around them.

However, at around midnight, her fatigue finally beats her, sinking her into a lethargy and leaving me nearly exhausted but nonetheless grateful she actually looks a tad bit healthier.

I slump into a rickety armchair and tilt my head to the side slightly, in hopes of getting a couple of hours of sleep. The moment my eyelids close though, a sudden sense of jitters floods me. I open my eyes and shake my head, my jaw trembling and my stomach lurching. The feeling is still there, tingling behind my knees and curling down to the tips of my toes.

Just for an agonizing second. And then it's gone…

Befuddled, I sit still for a while, almost scared that if I get up the turmoil will return. Thankfully, the squeak of the armchair, as I shift in my position, snaps me out of it.

I guess I've had too much coffee…

I lean back again, staring sleepily at the long, lurching shadows the frail light of the candles casts against the opposite wall and relishing their warmth. It's calmative; lenitive. As I feel my heartbeats slow down and my limbs go heavy, I smile contentedly. The tizzy that overcame me moments ago, is now forgotten; it's memory drowned in the inertia that is slowly but gradually numbing every sense and blotting every thought.

For hours it seems, there's nothing but drowsiness and incoherent, black and white dreams, wavering before my half shut eyelids.

Silence…

* * *

><p>A loud thump jolts me awake and I look around, searching for someone or something, although my mind can't really determine what yet.<p>

A figure, covered in the shadows of the now dark room, is lying on the floor, making a weak attempt to get up.

"Johanna?", I ask croakily, narrowing my eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up", she replies, her voice soft and wary.

"What are you doing?", I huff out while getting up to help her.

"I could not stay in bed any longer. The quilt is unbearably warm and my whole body aches. I thought of going outside for fresh air. An unfortunate choice I suppose, seeing as I can barely stand up"

A sympathetic smirk spreads across my face as I pull her back up. Holding her by the waist, I support her all the way to the parlor and seat her rather abruptly on the settee.

"Sorry", I mumble out of breath as I get up.

"I am alright", she replies with a burned out smile.

"Yeah, well… That's what you kept saying in the afternoon, too"

"Linda, please, don't reprimand me now. My headache is sufficient enough in reminding me that I shouldn't have been so heedless about my health, anyway. What time is it?"

"It's half past two", I briskly reply, after glancing at the clock behind me.

"Oh goodnes… I thought it was at least five o' clock"

"Would you like to go back to bed?"

"Oh no, no. I do not want to sleep any longer. I had starnge dreams. Not really nightmares but… they were unsettling" She hesitates for a moment, her hand tousling with a lock of her golden hair. "I dreamt of Andrew, as well"

"Was it a good dream?", I ask cautiously.

"Well… It certainly wasn't a bad one. I was standing outside the house, wearing my wedding gown. He was at the other side of the road, smiling at beckoning me to go to him. That is all… Do you think it means something?"

"No. Dreams mean nothing. You just miss him a lot, sweetheart"

She nods solemnly.

"Yes, I suppose you're right"

I cross my arms and look outside the window. The creaking wind is blowing manically, drifting leaves and buckling the branches of dead trees. It's the sort of weather that makes you grateful you have a roof over your head.

"I'll go make some tea, alright?", I throw, trying to sound upbeat.

She nods with a slight smile.

"Don't take long"

"I won't"

"And… Linda?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you"

I smile and turn on my heel, heading towards the kitchen.

I lazily move around the room, searching for a napkin when a sound, resembling the whinny of a horse makes me jump outside my skin. The candles on the kitchen table blow out and I warily turn around.

It's just the air… isn't it?

Isn't it?

The paralyzing tension strikes me again, even harder than before. My heartbeats become painful, lungs struggling to keep up with my heart's increasing rate. The sense is so unbearable that I almost want to cry.

I nervously search the cupboards, my hands fumbling shakily for cups.

I must be coming down with something. It's the only explanation I can come up with…

An insane sound that resembles a chuckle escapes my lips. Maybe it's a snarl. Whatever. Of course it was just the air. This fear can't possibly be something real.

I bite my lower lip - so hard that it hurts - and go back to whatever I was doing. I slam the cups on the counter and move mechanically, acting like I don't worry about anything; like nothing inside me trembles with fear. Teakettle. Water. Tea leaves. My pulses quick and heavy and I just move. Steady.

My eyes jump around, unable to focus on anything. Teapot. Floor. Window.

Window?

At first my head turns unconsciously towards the counter again, my eyes disregarding what they saw. Then, I look again. Slowly. My glazing gaze is fixed on the window, as I struggle to grip reality, and a light scream escapes my lips.

A black horse. Just standing there. _Without _its rider.

I don't take my eyes off of it until I feel something warm beneath my fingers. I look at my hand, only to realize in detached bafflement that there's blood all over it. Blood on the splintered cup it's holding, too. Blood trickling down the wooden floor. But the sluggish, distant sense of pain is dulled by the sharpness of each breath I take. I don't hurt. I don't care. Is it my blood? I'm frozen.

My mind scrambles with realization as I stand in the darkness, still as a statue, aching for every moment that passes and brings terror closer and closer.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slams open, jolting right through me. And then I'm trembling, shivering and making futile attempts to slow down my raging pulse.

_Heavy steps. The unsheathing of a sword. A scream cut short by the sharp hit of a blade and the sound of something rolling on the ground._

An adrenaline rush sends me darting out of the room at a speed I couldn't have mastered under normal circumstances and before I know it, I'm in the parlor again. I halt smack-dab in the middle of the room, my feet closely avoiding tripping over the… the…

Oh, God…

I stare at the headless body, lying prone on the floor like an affrighting dummy, but I can show no reaction.

It didn't happen. It didn't happen, it didn't… Not her, too.

Eyes trailing back up, I see what I fear the most.

The Horseman is standing motionless right in front of the open front door, sword in the one hand and Johanna's head in the other, his black cape billowing in the air as he looks at me, if that's even possible.

I finally let out the scream I hadn't realized I was holding back.

Three steps back and I hit the wall. I clench my jaw, refusing to let the tears leak out of my eyes. My shoulders slide slowly against the wall and I'm waiting. The teakettle whistles loudly in the kitchen, piercing my ears and making me feel like my heart shatters over and over with every beat. My arms are wrapped around my body protectively as if this is enough to make it all go away. I know he's gonna kill me, I know it but I feel paralyzed and I can't fight, I can't… I…

He turns around and slowly exits the house.

He's leaving? He's leaving me be?

I choke, trying to comprehend what's going on.

Is this some kind of twisted game? Is he gonna turn around when I'll least expect it and finish his job, just for the hell of it?

No.

Approaching his horse, he stuffs his new trophy into a bag and sheathes his sword. Casually. Like it all means nothing. Like he simply doesn't care.

Well, I care.

I freaking care.

I crawl towards the settee and scramble back on my feet, both hands gripped tighly on it.

Five long stides take me outside the house, each one bringing me closer to him. I walk in fast determination like I'm not scared, though I'm terrified. I approach him like I have something to tell him, though I don't. All I have is my fear, which keeps growing, eating everything else inside me.

He doesn't care. Doesn't mind. He just ignores me, until my hand is on his arm, urging him to turn and blotting his sleeve with the blood that's still gushing from my fresh cuts.

"Why? Why, dammit? WHY?", I scream, unable to think of anything better to say.

He leaves the horse's reins and turns towards me. I straighten my shoulders, petrified. He's husky and taller than me even without his head and being so close to him makes me feel as small and vulnerable as a puppy. He freezes for a few neverending seconds and some sort of fearful clarity is restored in me. I focus on my panting breaths. My hand is still on a white knuckle grip on his arm, but I'm too scared to even move.

For a moment, I think I've got his attention. But the second I start to relax, he moves. His free hand comes up in an instant, quick and hard. It grabs mine round the wrist and yanks it off.

Fury burning within me, I reach out to him again, as hot tears stream down my cheeks. But he won't have it. Grabbing me by the shoulder, he pushes me away so hard that I trip and fall down.

"No!", I scream at the top of my lungs. "You can't just leave like this! Do you hear me? YOU CAN'T LEAVE LIKE THIS!"

But he can. And he does. Ignoring me, he briskly mounts on the ebony steed and canters it away towards the Western Woods. Galloping at a feverish speed, horse and rider disappear in the thick forest.

I sit there, at the very spot I landed. He's gone. It's over. And yet I'm still trembling, unable to move; unable to think; unable to feel.

Numb.

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><p><strong>ΑΝ: Thanks to Monstarzgirl for reviewing!**


	9. A Tangled Mess of Emotions

_Do you feel it crush you? Does it seem to bring the worst in you out?  
>There's no running away from these things that hold you down<br>Do they complicate you because they make you feel like this?  
>Of all the colors that you've shined this is surely not your best<br>_Colors - Crosfade

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><p><em>He's gone. It's over. And yet I'm still trembling, unable to move; unable to think; unable to feel.<em>

_Numb._

* * *

><p>The wind is still blowing, savagely. It tousles my hair, getting it in my already stinging eyes and draining my tears before they have a chance to leak out.<p>

I'm down, on the muddy ground, shivering uncontrollably, eyes still fixed in the shadows of the thick forest, hoping for God knows what. The thin fabric of my dress does little to protect me from the biting cold, but I just can't go. I can't get up.

I'm so cold, I don't even care anymore.

Somewhere in the background, I hear an indistinct humming of something that resembles voices, occasionally fading when the air blows more wildly, but steadily getting louder. And then, there's figures, gradually getting bigger, taller, more clean-cut.

People. Men with rifles and women in nightgowns. Approaching. Some stopping around me, others barging in the house. I slightly turn around, watching the men that are going inside.

I want to… I want to tell them.

Fragments of voice reach me.

"_The Widow Killian?" _A sigh. _"Good God, what a mess… Is the head here?"_

I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder and abruptly turn around. A man is knelt before me, anxiously uttering words I can't pick up. Drops of spittle drip out of his mouth and I make a feeble attempt to pull away, but he makes sure I stay in place. After a few seconds of uttering nonsense in my face, his other hand seizes me by the waist and he firmly pulls me upwards until I'm standing.

"_Ms. Masbath? Ms. Masbath can you hear me?"_

I look back down. Now why would he go and do that? I was just fine, sitting there on the-

Two hands cup my cheeks and I'm forced to face him again.

"Was it the Horseman?"

Some sort of sludge awareness creeps in my mind.

The Horseman…?

He shakes me abruptly, repeating the question.

Give me time, dammit!

"_What happened? He was here, wasn't he? Did he hurt you?", _he carries on, his words triggering shreds of thought as they reach my ears.

Two men rush into the house, carrying a coffin. The image of the Hessian standing inches away flashes in front of my eyes and I choke up.

"_No! Ms. Masbath… For the love of God, speak to me!"_

One more abrupt shake and then his hands loosen their grip around my head and move down to my shoulders. I look up at his umber eyes. He sighs in defeat, his forehead puckering and I almost feel sorry for him.

The men that were in the house storm out, a few of them carrying the now full coffin.

Oh God, this is too horrible. My eyes stay fixed on the decapitated corpse inside it. When I close them though, the image of the Horseman standing at the doorway with Johanna's head in his hand flashes before them. The shock buzzes me anew and I let out a cry of alarm.

"He killed her", I croak. "He killed her. The… the Horseman killed her! He was here! He was here… He was…"

The man glances at me, startled, looking like he doesn't know what to do.

"Swear - I swear to God… right before my eyes"

They don't understand. How can they not understand?

"He killed her!", I spout louder and then I repeat it again and again, louder and louder until my throat burns, but no one reacts and the coffin is lying open on the ground and I'm crying, I know I'm crying, refusing to comprehend what I see but I have to tell them, I have to, I just…

"Glenn, do you have a mind to close the coffin? As for you, Mr. Evans, escort Ms. Masbath back to the Van Tassel manor and make sure she stays there", calls a familiar voice.

I turn around. Ichabod is standing a few good feet behind me, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes cold and unreadable, struggling to maintain superiority.

"No…", I whimper, trying to escape from the hands that are now pulling me relentlessly, but to no avail.

This isn't fair. They don't get it…

Whatever I try to say next gets strangled in a sob. My feet stumble and I actually have to lean against the man I was trying to dodge for support.

It all goes downhill from there.

A dizzy moment and I allow myself to go limp, trying to escape from this mishmash in the only way I can. But then, two sturdy arms pull me up again, forcing me to keep going.

"Come on Ms. Masbath, we're almost there_", _I hear somewhere in the distance but my mind plainly brushes the statement off. It doesn't even scratch the surface. Nothing does. Sounds are distant echoes and images nothing but blurred shapes.

Some kind of strength I didn't know I still possessed makes me take a few more strides.

Awkward, solacing words fill my ears, but they're so redundant. I don't want to go on. I don't want to keep moving. All I want is to cut that last thread with reality. And I can't. Because my mind, although wobbly and whirling, stubbornly refuses to black out completely.

I look up. The mansion's door is just six feet away. One step, two steps and the man drags me. A toiling sigh and I'm set against the wall of the mansion. The feel of the cold stone against my back helps me sober up and I'm suddenly very aware of my position.

_He spared my life…_

An ardent knock on the door and it opens with a loud creak. A few words are exchanged between Lady Van Tassel and my escort and I'm led inside.

_The Horseman spared my life… _

I slump into a random chair and try to process that truth. The threatening silence of the house sets my mind into motion and I feel my heart rate go up again.

_Why…?_

Katrina descends the staircase in a rush.

"What happened?"

"The Horseman, my dear. He murdered the Widow Killian. Ms. Masbath witnessed it all, as it seems", Lady Van Tassel briskly replies.

She says it so lightly that for a moment, it almost doesn't seem that bad.

Almost…

"Ms. Masbath? Can you hear me?"

I feebly nod.

"Can you recite what happened?"

Another nod. This time negative.

Don't make me explain. Please. I can't. Not now.

"Very well. Katrina, please help me lead her upstairs. She's evidently shaken. Some rest will do her good"

The calm, strong voice snaps me out of my absurd pondering. I swallow, preparing myself to demur but then hands find me. Kind hands. Gentle hands. With no rush in their touch. They urge me to get up and I obey submissively. God, I am tired. Sleep doesn't seem like a bad idea.

They both escort me to my room and they even make sure I'm safely tucked in under the covers.

My exhaustion is so great that I don't even bother to undress. Even the desire to object quickly dims as a dreamless plain of darkness radically engulfs me.

…

The first sense to come back to me is sound. It's discomposing. Unhinging. A raving ruffle of voices trying to top one other, all edged by presumption and irritation.

I stare at the ceiling for a while, not really thinking, just trying to single out words.

…_Horseman…_

…_murder…_

…_constable…_

…_incompetent…_

The last night's events gradually dawn on me.

Johanna is dead…

My heart falls to the deepest pit of my stomach, prodding tears to dwell in my eyes.

I swallow a wave of nausea. How am I supposed to feel? Devastated? Shocked? Grateful I'm still alive?

I think I'm all of these things… among others. But most importantly, I'm still here; I'm supposed to cope with it. Expected to, maybe?

Memories of my shocked reaction flood me. Damn, did I flip out last night… crying… screaming nonsense… in front of everyone…

_Damn._

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and get up. The moment my feet touch the cold, wooden floor a swell of upheaval bursts in my chest and trickles down to my stomach clenching a knot I know is here to stay.

The same horrifying images seep back in. Johanna's headless corpse lying in the middle of the parlor and then the Horseman; bloodcurdling, unerring and so very real. They flash before my eyes for milliseconds, yet the flustering feeling is always there, cutting through me, bowling me over and making my backbone shiver.

I clench my fists and try to fight it, concentrate on little things, like the thumb mark on the window or the spider that's pacing the room in a haste. It doesn't work.

The added tension intensifies the rabble of voices from downstairs until they become deafening.

"…_and Ms. Masbath… unsound mind…"_

What?

My brows furrow in an expression of dander. Is that what they think? That I've lost it?

I stand before the mirror and stare at my reflection for a while.

I'm not crazy. No, I'm not that yet. I won't lose myself over it. I'll show them.

I cast a fleeting glance at the door, fighting off a shiver.

_Showing _them probably means going downstairs and trying to act like a normal human being.

Uhh… I don't want to... I just… I can't, I'm in the wrong shape… Chances are that if I do go, I'll eventually go gaga and run away, or worse.

Maybe they are right… Maybe I _am _nuts…

No.

I stop myself before that train of thought goes any further. This is something I have to do.

Not in this state, though. I mean, I look horrible. My hair is a tangled mess, my hands are all grubby with dirt and dried blood and as for my dress… It's so filthy and frayed I don't think there's any chance of it being saved.

I turn on my heel and head for the bathroom.

…

It takes about half an hour until I finally work up the courage to leave my room.

Well, maybe that's an overstatement. Working up the courage… Not that I could go without bathing and dressing first but I made sure I did it in the slowest way possible.

The thing is, now I'm ready. And out of excuses. Which sucks.

Ow.

I let out a glum sigh and propel myself towards the door, opening it forcefully before I have a chance to change my mind.

Oh, but changing my mind seems so much easier right now… I linger there for a while, swinging the door and biting my bottom lip like a little child. _Wishing _I was a little child…

Yeah, way to deal with my problems.

The tones momentarily rise up downstairs, causing me to shut the door in a jolt. The slamming noise peps me up a little and I feel my face flush with colour. There is no backing down now.

I hastily descend the staircase. Once I reach the office door I stop and stay glued in my spot for a while, eavesdropping to the discussion held behind it.

It's all painfully familiar. My hesitation, my thoughts, my impulse to make a one hundred and eighty degree turn and run away. It's the same as the day I got here; the day I didn't know what I would face when I entered the dining room. Well, maybe not exactly the same. Back then, I didn't know about any of this. I didn't know about the Horseman. I didn't know what I was supposed to do.

I'm still not sure about the latter one.

Well… Here we go again.

I lightly knock on the door and wait. Once I hear the tired 'come in', I lightly push it open and take a step forwards, making sure my shoulders are straight and my expression as tranquil as it gets.

All conversations stop, replaced by suddenness and quietude. A fetid waft, mixed with the scent of alcohol corks me and I feel the color drain from my face. I lock my hands behind my back and then immediately bring them in front of my stomach, seeking a more ladylike position.

Alright, keep your cool. Try to remain upright and not freak out by the fact that the entire male population of the village is crammed in the room. Just keep it simple. _Breathe in… Breathe out… _

So, this is awkward…

Umm… So, what now? Look at me being all serene and reasonable. _Not _yelling and shivering. Civilized. Aloof.

Hypocritical.

I fix my gaze on Lord Van Tassel who is standing behind his desk, completely thrown off. The drops of sweat that run down his forehead indicate that he was in the middle of a heated argument, but now he's simply staring at me without saying a word and his probable agitation is replaced by an image of hesitation and surprise.

"Good morning", I simply throw.

"Uhh… Ms. Masbath…"

Yeah, that's me.

"You should be resting…", he advises, watching me like I might freak out or explode all over him.

My fingernails dig into my palms. Deep breath. I can do this.

"I've slept more than enough, sir, thank you for your concern", I reply in a pitched tone.

He flinches an awkward look to Reverend Steenwyck who stands next to him, to which he does not respond. Seeing that I have no intention of leaving anytime soon, he sighs almost defeatedly.

"In that case, please have a seat"

I stagger my way through a jumble of whispers and sit lightly in an armchair, avoiding to make eye contact with anyone or generally do anything else that might encourage them to talk to me.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. _

Lord Van Tassel starts speaking again in a more refined tone.

I don't listen. I just try to focus on not flipping out and fighting the urge to hit something… Or headdesk it.

Peachy.

A hand goes to my temple. Damn, I'm a mess.

The men's words simply wash away. I try to concentrate on the things around me, but it doesn't help. Images from last night flood me and cling to me and they're so very real. Little details. The melted wax stains on the floor of the kitchen. The frayed part of the Horseman's cape. Trivial stuff I overlooked then.

The loud voices throb in my ears like a never-ending, furious hum, but they are outmatched by the memory of the tea kettle's whistles.

At some point, Dr. Lancaster flashes me a fleeting look, laced with befuddled concern. I lower my hand and twich my lips in a ghost of a smile, trying to still my heaving shoulders.

_Breathe in. Breathe out… yeah. Whatever. _

Time drizzles by and much to my relief, the discussion gradually fades.

"Gentlemen", Lord Van Tassel finally states "As I have stated before, we ought not to intervene in the investigation. At this point, we are all under the mercy of God. Let us be patient and allow our good constable to carry on with his work. We must keep our composure in these difficult times and not turn against each other. That would be all. You may go now"

I look at the "good constable" who is leaning against the window, gazing tiredly at the bleak landscape as the rest of the men, save for Lord Van Tassel obediently exit the room, chatting in little groups.

Once the office is finally empty, I lean back and close my eyes, letting out a sigh.

I hear Lord Van Tassel slump into his chair and clear his throat.

"Neither of us has slept yet", he randomly states, as if I expected an excuse for their obvious exhaustion. "We were at this the entire night. The town is in ferment. One more murder and they'll go lunatic"

I look at him, detached. Part of me knows that I should feel sorry for his afflicting burden but right now I feel too reluctant to add any other feeling to my tangled mess of emotions.

I'm not sure if that makes me deranged, a horrible person or just both…

"Anyway, how are you, child? I understand that it was a very difficult night for you", he continues in a calmer manner.

"I'm managing", I lisp after a few seconds with a shrug of my shoulders, even though I don't feel like I'm managing anything, really.

He nods and gets up. "I'm glad to hear that. It is very fortunate as it is astonishing that your life was spared. Now if you excuse me, I need some rest. These meetings can be exhausting"

I arch a brow and silently watch him go.

Once he exits the room, Ichabod, who hasn't spoken until now, draws his gaze from the window and wearily goes to sit behind the desk. Drumming his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface, he sharply breathes out through his nose. "As you can imagine, the investigation must carry on", he gravely says.

I pout indifferently. "I suppose"

"… And in order for that to happen, I will need every piece of information concering the latest murder"

I turn to look at him, worriedly. His conspicuous reluctance to do this right now, combined with my chickenhearted distress make this conversation so tired and unavailing.

"…From me?", I ask timidly.

"I'm afraid you were the only witness"

I don't answer. More than anything because my mind looms with that one fear. That he will ask me to recite from the beginning what I wish I could forget.

"Linda…?"

My eyes close on their own accord and the next breath that comes out is long and shaky.

"What do you… What do you want me to do?"

"I need a complete description of the _incident; _a report, to put it simply._"_

Fat tears dwell in my eyes. And I hate them. I don't want to cry. I really _don't. _

"Would you like to transcribe it in the form of a composition or do you find answering question more plausible?", he goes on, already retrieving his ledger, ready to get to work.

"I… I can't…", I waveringly reply, wishing that it was enough a reason for him not to bother me any further.

He abruptly stops writing and gives me a troubled look. The silence following my statement hangs like a lumpy weight between us. When he speaks again, his voice comes out clipped and restrained.

"I understand that you are rattled, but, nevertheless, I will have to insist that you cooperate"

His words sting like salt on an open wound.

"I really don't want to be involved", I mumble grimly.

"I'm afraid you already are involved"

I blink. Wonder if I heard him right. My head throbs with an influx of aggravating thoughts. I'm weak; pathetic. I know. But I still can't do this.

"So, let us commence, shall we?"

I shake my head.

"I can't help you"

He presses his lips tightly together and blatantly opens the ledger. "Do I have to beseech you?"

My jaw clenches, refusing to tremble. I wish I was stronger. I wish my mind was clear. I wish I didn't want to cry so bad.

"Ichabod, please…"

"Linda, what you fail to realize is that I was called here to investigate _murder_. My responsibility is to restore peace on these grounds and serve justice. Now, I cannot own up to it if the townsfolk refuse to collaborate with me. I do not wish to exert you with the investigation, but your report is needed for the greater good"

He's standing up now, eyes fixed on me impatiently, glazing in frustration. His words come out constrict, his voice pushed through the back of his throat as he speaks fast and irascibly.

My fingers go shakily to my face and press against my forehead. I want to apologize fot being such a mess up. For being so wrong. But I can't even do that. My tongue twists in an attempt to speak, but it's not enough. The words won't come out and I just sit there, shoulders hunched, waiting for him to say something and take the weight off of my shoulders. But he doesn't. There is no comfort and consolation, just space and the overwhelming mountain of the responsibility I can't face up to.

Through the mess of my tears, I hear a tired sigh. I wipe my face with my sleeve and strangle a sob, ruing to the fact that he hasn't given up on me already.

"Can you at least consider the difficulty of my position?", he asks, in a calmer tone. "The townsfolk…", he sighs and plops down on his seat again. "Reverend Steenwyck is already aversed to me. If he decides to speak against me, he will influence the entire town"

My heart sinks a little further. Feeling utterly miserable, I bury my face in my palms and shake my head. I don't know what to say to that. I don't know. Say that I'll do it? I can't even…

Ugh.

I just want to bury it all. Erase it from my memory, turn back time, I don't know, I just can't do it. I. Can't. Not without reliving it. Not without feeling my legs go numb. It's too fresh, too complicated and after all it's too much. I just want to curl into a ball, close my eyes and pretend that it never happened. I want to be eight again, swinging in my backyard, not caring about a thing.

For a while he says nothing more. He just sits on his chair, waiting for me to do God knows what. Make an attempt to speak? Manage intelligible thoughts?

I just hang there, waiting.

"I see", he eventually says in faint peevishness, closing his ledger.

He draws a long breath and in that moment, I realize that it's over. He's done pleading. He's used all his arguments. His patience has ran short. Which only makes me feel worse.

He hauls the chair backwards and gets up.

My chest tightens. I look up and swallow awkwardly. Watching him walk away, I get the guilt-ridden impression that if I don't say something now, I might never get the chance to.

"Ichabod…?", I fumble shakily.

He turns around and I stare down his feet, trying to gather my thoughts.

"I'm sorry", I eventually babble, afraid that anything else I might say will only make things worse.

For a brief moment, he looks down, his gaze darkening as he thinks it through. Then, he nods in acknowledgment and turns on his heel again, making for the door.

Finally being left alone, I curl up on the chair, not even caring about my dress. The silence becomes deafening. A million thoughts pile up and I don't want them. Ichabod, Johanna, the funeral, the Horseman… They all bounce in my head, making the lump in my throat unbearable and having me wonder how in the world I'm supposed to deal with it.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to bleach102, Monstarzgirl, noodle86 and RAswimmer2012 for their lovely reviews! :)**


	10. Change Of Heart

_A tell-tale sign _  
><em> You don't know where to draw the line <em>  
><em> And why'd you say <em>  
><em> It's just another day, nothing in my way <em>  
><em> I don't wanna go, I don't wanna stay <em>  
><em> So there's nothing left to say<br>_  
>Nothing In My Way - Keane<p>

* * *

><p>Time is a tricky thing to figure. When you're having a good time, it flies by imperceptibly. When you're bored, it trickles by slowly. And when you're hiding in your room, afflicted and at a loss, curled up on your bed and staring miserably at the wall in front of you, it drags on so slowly, it practically freezes altogether.<p>

It's been two weeks, since my sorry attempt of a conflict with Ichabod. And two long ones, I can assure you.

Two weeks is enough time to think. I can assure you about that, too. It's ample time to make your self-criticism and revise your opinions. Two weeks is actually enough time to go from shocked and dazed to clearheaded and mortified.

Mostly mortified.

I throw my head back against the wall and sigh tiredly. My body is strained and fatigued from all the housework, but closing my eyes would feel like admitting my defeat. Normally, sleeping would be the perfect and only escape, but not today. Today my mind feels like the highway at rush hour.

I look out the widow, past my grim reflection and at the moist, chartreuse carpet of grass that stretches out from the muddy dirt road to the dark tracery of careening branches. For a moment, my eyes trail off at the ashen sky and I quietly watch the day breathe its last. The thick fog blends with the chimney's smoke, dimming the scenery and enveloping all living and inanimate things in a somber veil. If one wanted to hide, they wouldn't even have to make an effort. The visibility is so limited that standing still in the middle of the village would be sufficient enough.

"_I need a complete description of the incident"_

My heart sinks every time I remember Ichabod's words. And it goes down even further whenever I remember my reaction to them.

Am I regretful?

Well… I don't know. No. Kind of. I…

Ugh.

Yes. Yes, I've regretted my decision.

Part of me says "So what? He asked you, you said no. End of story"

And then there's that other part that snorts snarkily and goes all "Right. Coward's way out" on my denial. The part that notices Ichabod's constraint whenever we come across each other.

I hate that part.

It all happened gradually. My mind sobered up and denial transformed into insecurity. Then came guilt.

The first two days, they were the worst. The talks, the depressing and cumbersome funeral… Like every funeral, I suppose. Only, it wasn't _any_ funeral. It was Johanna's funeral.

I never viewed the corpse again; no one would allow it. They all kind of tip-toed around me when it came to the preparations, making chary and attentive remarks as to how I should just rest and making sure I stayed away from the coffin. Like a little child. Or a person at the verge of madness. I haven't decided which, yet.

Then there were the hushed whispers at the ceremony. "_She was with the late widow when it happened"_ _"The poor thing looked as mad as a March hare". _Curious echoes. Short-lived looks.I didn't care about them much. I was too busy shaking and sniveling. And I still don't.

Now the shock's worn off. The nightmares eventually stopped. The frightful flashbacks died away. And Johanna… Uh, it was nice to have a friend with whom I could be myself. One who just longed for company and felt as secluded as I did. Who made me feel that no matter how hard things get, one should always try to keep that smile on their face genuine. And I hate what happened, but waking up and knowing that she's buried six feet under and without her head has become somewhat bearable.

I remember her dream sometimes. The one she talked about that dreadful night. The scene plays at random times in my head. It gets me wishing it really meant more than I believed it meant when she asked me. I tell myself over and over again that she's reunited with Andrew now in a better place and that she is happier than she could ever be here without him, until it becomes an almost unshakable belief.

But it still itches. Always there, at the back of my head. The knowledge that I just let stuff happen and try not to be a part of it, however small that part might be. The thought that I could have done a little something to help stop the murders and I chose not to, because it was convenient. Like a wimp.

So, I just go for distraction. Helping young Masbath study, doing random chores, sweeping, dusting, reading… Just going from A to B in hopes of exhausting myself so that sleep will come easy. Plus, I've got a job now. Or something like that. I replaced Johanna in the Browns' household, looking after Mrs. Brown's noisy kids in the mornings. The pay is meager and I'm not even good with children but at least it keeps me busy.

As to what triggered the chain reaction of remorseful feelings? The core of all self-doubt?

Johanna's diary.

I was at her house, along with Katrina and a few other women, about a week after the murder, tidying and cleaning up. To my surprise, the house was in the exact same state I had left it. The cups on the counter, the shattered pieces of one of them scattered on the kitchen floor, the single smear of dried blood in the parlor… I quivered at the sight. No one had bothered to come back. It was as if time itself had frozen in there.

The bedroom was in the same condition, as well. The unmade side in which Johanna was lying, the dent in her pillow... It took effort to keep my control, but I did it. An accomplishment of pure willpower alone. I walked over to the dresser, opened some drawers. Wondered what would become of her garments. Pretended that it actually mattered to me, because if it did, then the rest of my thoughts would just get shoved in the background.

I sat down on the bed, my hand moving under the covers next to me, smoothing the ruffled sheets. The feel of something hard addled me and I dragged it out. It was a small notebook. I briskly opened a random page, unsure of the integrity of my action and let my fingers run smoothly over the yellowish paper. Taking a quick gander at it, I spotted dates written in calligraphic letters on top of every page. My eyes grazed over random words. _Andrew… happy… death… Linda…_ But Katrina stormed in the room unexpectedly and I had to hide it.

So, I took it with me, aiming to read it at the mansion, unruffled. By the time I got the chance to pick it up again, my insecurity had gotten the best of me. I knew what was written in it wasn't something light. I knew it contained Johanna's deepest thoughts and emotions. I knew my name was there. I knew it was all that was left from her. And I knew she had written about the Hessian, too, but I couldn't bear the thought of letting him linger in my mind again. So, I masked my hesitance behind my reluctance to invade her privacy and left it on my desk. Too aghast to read it, but too sorry to cram it in a drawer.

And that's where it still lies. Staring at me from across the room. Silently nagging and mocking me...

Maybe I'm not getting over this as well as I'm trying to prove.

I blow the candles on my bedside table and crawl under my covers, even though it's not even completely dark yet. Even though I know I won't sleep tonight.

* * *

><p>The following afternoon, I'm sitting with young Masbath in the library, keeping an eye on him as he studies and trying my best to read. Lemuel Gulliver's adventures don't really manage to keep me from tuning out, though. The same unnerving thoughts inundate me. My mind is glued on the leather-bound notebook on my desk, my guilt scorching everything else inside me. Until I can't take it anymore. Until I have to let someone know about my internal war.<p>

"Jonathan?", I ask hesitantly, my voice tinged with tenseness.

He looks up from his pile of books, slightly thrown off. "Yes?"

My eyes fall to the cup of tea I'm holding in my lap, and I hesitate. "Are you finished with your Latin?"

"Not quite"

"Would you like to take a break?"

He shrugs innocently, oblivious to my tension. "Is there anything that you'd like me to do?"

"No… it's just… you could spare a moment"

He snaps his book shut and gets up, coming to sit closer to me by the window. "Something is ailing you"

It is more of a declaration than a question.

A bitter smile spreads across my face. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Well, you have been awfully quiet all day", he gravely states, his eyes trying to catch sight of mine, as I keep my head lowered. "Do you feel all right? Would you like me to fetch the doctor?"

"No. I'm all right… sort of - I mean…" I look up at his wide eyes. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course"

I take a deep breath, fighting for the right words. Trying to grasp the edges of what I want to express.

"What if you did something, like wrong someone or say harsh words to them and then regretted it? What would you do?"

He doesn't even take a moment to process it. "Ask for their forgiveness, I suppose, and make amends to them"

I blink. It can't be that simple. It doesn't _feel _that simple.

"Yes, but what if it had been a long time since it happened? What if it was forgotten by everyone else?", I insist, almost begging him to admit that I am the one who's right about this.

"I cannot see how that would affect my decision. I mean, it would not if I still felt bitter"

I look out the window, my dissatisfaction clearly expressed across my face. Here I am, receiving advice from a child and I'm not even able to agree and suck it up.

"Have you offended someone?", he curiously asks.

I flash him an intense look, edged with incertitude. I suppose there is no harm in telling him but… I can't even admit it to myself, let alone others.

"I think so", I blandly reply.

His acknowledging nod shows me that he understands I'm uncomfortable.

"And now you have qualms about it…?"

"Umm… Yes, essentially…"

"Can you still show your penitence?"

"…I can"

"Then what hinders you?"

"My selfishness", I mutter in an outburst of honesty. "And my insecurity and my tendency to complicate things..." I sigh tiredly and place my cup on the coffee table next to me. "I wish I knew what I was doing."

"Do what you ought to do"

"It's difficult"

"But you are not content now, are you? Would you rather snip your happiness than your ego?"

The intimacy of the question makes my legs turn into jelly. What do you say to something like that? I just feel awkward and clammed up and all I can manage is a disregarding shrug.

"…You should get back to your studies"

He gives me a puzzled look and stays still. Embarrassed by my abruptness, I nod and work on a smile. "I'll think on it"

* * *

><p><em>I'll think on it…<em>

It's been two hours since my conversation with Jonathan and I can honestly say that _all _I've managed to do is think on it.

At the end of the line, I want to make things right. Bur wanting something has nothing to do with actually trying for it. And I'm not sure of anything, anymore. What am I supposed to do? Or rather, how am I supposed to do it? Just belly up to Ichabod and tell him how sorry I am and how stupid I acted and how I really want to make it up to him?

Probably…

I flinch a look at the diary. Always on my desk, always reminding me… I propel myself towards it, but then my resolve crumbles and I stop, before my hand has a chance to pick it up. I stand still for a while, the quietness of the room twisting my stomach into knots.

Then, without warning, I grab it and exit the room, heading downstairs. No matter what I eventually decide to do, I'll read it first. Just not in this room. All I've done in it for the past few days is weep and mope and feel like crap. I don't know if what I'm doing is right. And I don't care, either. It just feels appeasing.

Reaching the main hallway, I stumble to a halt and almost, _almost _change my mind. But… well… no.

Kitchen it is.

Plopping on a random chair, I throw the notebook on the table in front of me. I take a deep breath, my cheeks burning due to the blazing flames of the oven next to me. The spine crackles as I open it, as if proclaiming my meddling in affairs that don't pertain to me. Brushing off the last hint of guilt I feel, I get consumed in Johanna's world. My lips pressed tightly together, I consistently turn page after page for hours that seem like minutes.

The first entries date back to October, I realize, a little more than a month before Andrew's murder. I mostly flip through the first pages as they are mainly about her everyday life and the news of the village, a lugubrious smile curving the edges of my lips. She was always one to care about the town's gossips. Quite a few pages are dedicated to some widow's pregnancy, which from what I understand was the outcome of her secret wedding with one of the town's elders, the fact stressed in astonishment and intended to be kept a secret. Enter the Hessian's murders. The widow is mentioned in a later part again as a victim of the Horseman's blade along with a list of persons who met the same fate. What draws me in are the entries after Andrew's death. Although she wrote regularly, there is a forty day gap, starting from the day she left to New York and the next date is that of January, 3.

"_When the words reached my ears, I felt the ground crumble beneath my feet. The feelings that inundated me were so erratic that I thought I would lose my mind. Truthfully, it is most surprising that I did not, for my agony and grief were so exponentially compounded… The knowledge of the fashion of my dearest Andrew's murder only multiplied the pain. The only thing that served as some sort of consolation was the support I received and yet, I sought to shun away from that as well. Death is a bereaving beast, one that causes you to spend your days drowned in loneliness. And drown I did. When I go to sleep, my last thoughts are that Andrew is dead. When I wake up, my thoughts are the same. When I venture out in the public, my only purpose is to hide efficiently behind my fragile façade. I smile, engage in conversations and even dare laugh at jokes, but there is never, __**ever **__a moment in which I'm not acutely aware of that feeling of empty loss. Behind my brave front, skulks a profound sorrow which has become my unfailing companion__and an indissoluble lump in my throat. Every morning I visit my husband's grave and tell him I will not last another day and yet I always do. Which one is the worst, I cannot say, but the conclusion I have reached is that Andrew took a part of me in his grave and left me half the woman"_

I stop reading for a moment, only then realizing that I've been holding my breath. Feeling fat tears dwell in my eyes and threaten to stream down my face, I look away, waiting for them to dry and I only dare read again when the urge to cry finally wilts.

"_I have not chosen to become recluse. At least not deliberately. But I can only recoil at the memory of those condoling mannerisms of others, a mix of benevolence and consternation, all part of their desire to elude me - the widow who has lost a husband to a bloodthirsty specter. They do not dare mention Andrew's name, and for me this is almost equivalent to him dying again, day after day. And yet, in all this anguish, God has shown some mercy and has given me something to ease the pain. A friend, that is. One whose manners I at first thought were sort of outlandish, but who is not afraid to speak my husband's name and with whom I can discuss the matter, without her thinking that she has hurt me if I become too emotional. One who understands me when I withdraw and does not coerce me into being cheerful. I speak of Linda Masbath, of course, a newcomer to the Hollow and my closest friend. Without her presence, my burden would become unbearable. She has helped me gather my might and endure my suffering"_

The sad smile returns to my lips, making me feel fuzzy inside. My hand slightly shaking, I turn the page, my eyes hungry for the last words of the notebook.

"_Alas; the pain is still very present. I know that I have to hurt before I can heal, but my grief has transformed me into a new creature. I am not afraid of death anymore. Too precarious a thing to say, but I do mean it. I have sworn to myself that I shall not surrender but I bear no dread of my demise, either. If I have to lead a life of solitude, then so be it. I will forevermore be recovering from my bereavement. But should the Headless Horseman come for me as well, I will not blench, for the hope of my reunion with Andrew in the afterlife, still flickers in my heart. Perhaps death would be my deliverance. Or, perhaps, one day, I will find the strength not to blame life for its audacity to continue despite my emotions"_

The click of the turning doorknob makes my bones leap from my skin and I spasmodically look up and shut the diary closed.

Lady Van Tassel charges into the room, her midnight blue scanning it in search for something and widening upon meeting my mussy form.

"There you are! I've been looking for you all over the house!"

"I… I'm sorry, I was rather… preoccupied"

She comes to stand over me, her gaze slumping to the notebook.

"What have you there?"

I shake my head, giving my best shot at looking indifferent.

"Is this your diary?", she asks again, her voice mellow but curious.

"Nah, it is… it was Johanna's…", I hastily mumble, unwilling to get into details. "You said you were searching for me?"

Her eyes reluctantly look away from the notebook and back at me, a manicured eyeborw arched.

"Why, yes, I came across Mrs. Brown as I was returning from the grocer's. She said you had forgotten your stole at her house."

"Oh goodness, no wonder I couldn't find it anywhere.", I say, as I get up. "I'll just go pick it up"

She tugs her lips into a smirk.

"Yes, you do that."

* * *

><p>Eighteen hours later and I'm getting ready to work, a little fuzzy from sleep but in a significantly better mood than yesterday. The morning is cold and crisply fresh, making me shiver lightly as my icy fingers touch my back while lacing my gown. I fix my gaze on the notebook, which lies closed on my desk.<p>

I don't remember taking it upstairs yesterday, but maybe Lady Van Tassel brought it back.

Meh. My head's always in the clouds.

Bleary eyed, I scrape my hair back into a simple bun and shuffle downstairs.

I've made up my mind. I'll do it. I'll give the report.

Yeah. Thunderous applause please…

Claiming that I lay sleepless the entire night, thinking it over and waging a war with myself as to whether I should finally step up and do what I should have done weeks ago or leaving things as they were, would be an overstatement if not a lie. I knew from the moment I closed the diary that not only I wanted to but I absolutely had to help Ichabod in some way. All the pain, grief and turns in people's lives, all the destruction and the ruins each murder left were too much to ignore as they unfolded themselves in front of me. I thought I knew Johanna and maybe I did to some extent, but she had never spoken of her bottomless agony in such a convulsing way before.

I go through with my morning routine, eating breakfast, looking after the little Browns and doing my usual chores, not really postponing anything just trying to gather my thoughts, figure out what I'm supposed to say and how I'm supposed to say it…

At around noon, I finally make my way upstairs and knock on Ichabod's door, hoping for the best. A muffled "come in" is uttered and I feel my face flush an attractive red.

Although I don't like to admit it, I feel kind of unussured. I thought the hardest part was making up my mind about this, but right now, I am one hundred percent conscious of what I'm doing and that makes me feel all floppy and flimsy.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully push the door open. Ichabod is sitting at his desk, his back turned on me.

A strange mixture of nervousness and hope washes over me.

He turns on his seat and glances at me, his right hand holding an instrument I cannot identify.

"Pardon me, I did not mean to disturb you", I say, my voice cracking.

"You are of no disturbance", he reassures me, although his tone suggests otherwise.

"I… I wanted to- uh…", I quickly stutter, already starting to lose it but then his voice stops me.

"Ah, please have a seat", he suggests congenially. "The you can broach the reason of your presence"

Right. Have a seat.

Approaching a chair next to the closet, against the right wall of the room, I think about carrying it closer to him. Or is that too intrusive? I mean, I kind of invited myself in… And that's… well… Ichabod. Squirmy, detached, I'm-offended-you-didn't-assist-me-but-I'm-too-much-of-a-gentleman-to-let-it-show Ichabod. As in the authoritative constable. And maybe I'm thinking way too much about dragging a stupid chair.

"Are you all right?", he asks, befuddled by my stupefaction.

I work on a smile and get seated. "What are you doing?"

"Just… conducting some experiments. What is that _you_ are doing here?"

I hesitate, though I don't know why. Maybe it's because this is my last chance to back out.

"I wanted to talk to you"

"About…?", he promptly asks, eyeing me earnestly.

"The report", I quickly and tactlessly burble out and his eyes widen in awe.

Well… Damn him and his direct questioning. I mean, seriously, this is the kind of look that makes me understand why people admit to crimes they have not committed.

He's quiet for a moment. Then, "I beg your pardon?"

I straighten back upright. "I… I wanted to ask you if you still needed my report"

He sighs, ever so slightly annoyed. "If my memory serves me well, you made clear you did not…"

"Do you?", I cut him off, unable to hear again what my mind's been nagging me about for weeks. This is isn't the best way the conversation could go, but I'm determined. I think…

"As a matter of fact, I do"

I nod. "Then I'd like to help you with it"

"May I ask what made you change your mind?"

"That, I'd like to keep for myself", I say, giving him a pleading look.

His perplexed silence encourages the next words to flow out of my mouth. "Please, don't ask me. Just let me do it. I mean, I was wrong to refuse in the first place. And it may have seemed to you that I did it because I was ignorant and I only cared about myself, but it's nothing like that. I'm not saying I wasn't stupid. I guess I was. And I don't like making excuses, but I just couldn't do it then. It was still too raw and it hurt too bad."

He doesn't answer and I'm not sure how to read that. But then he reaches for the desk's drawer and retrieves his ledger. I watch as still as a mouse as turns the pages until he finds an empty one.

"All right, then. I suppose we can begin without further ado."

First, he asks me a list of questions. The exact time each event took place, whether I bear any wounds, if I noticed any changes in the environment before the murder…

I shake my head to the blur of words that flow over me.

Then comes the actual account of the murder. To my surprise, it's easier than I thought. After the first halting words, sentences start flooding my mind. Maybe it's because of his method. He's focused on me and persistent, but he listens patiently, knowing how much I can take and how far I can go and just like that, memory after memory flows out of me. Sounds, images, feelings. By the end of my narration, I feel a strange medley of emotions elude me. I ache, yes, but you know what? I'm coping. It doesn't finish me. And somewhere deep inside, knowing that, gives me a faint element of satisfaction.

I hop off my seat and approach the young constable. Borrowing his pen, I sign where he shows me. He takes the ledger in his hands and studies the report for a while, then put its down and shakes his head. "Thank you"

I look out the hazy window and utter a silent 'okay'. Turning around, I start walking towards the door and I'm halfway out before an ill-defined thought buzzes me.

"Why are you still doing this?" The words are out before I give them a second thought.

He frowns. "Pardon?"

I look away, immediately regretting having spoken.

"Linda…?"

"Never mind"

I hear him sigh. "Are you asking me why I still continue the investigation despite the fact that the Horseman is evidently real and seemingly indestructible?"

My silence is enough an aswer.

"A man of science, contemptuous of claims of an ethereal fiend's existence sees it with his own eyes and yet, he remains in this cursed village despite his mind driving him to lunacy. I suppose it makes you wonder…"

I raise a hand in front of me, as if to shush him. "You don't have to explain yourself-"

But he cuts me off. "I did not need your report in order to study the fashion of the Widow Killian's murder - that I was already aware of. This report in merely a link to my chain of reasoning and one that locks perfectly with the rest, for that matter. You see, what is astonishing about this incident is not the widow's murder, but the fact that you are still very much alive. And what is certain is that the Horseman did not neglect you. He consciously decided not to kill you. Haven't you wondered why?"

"I have, but… I suppose you cannot reason with ghosts"

"Well, I beg to differ. This is not the first time the Headless Horseman lops off heads selectively. Twice have I witnessed his murders myself, whilst remaining physically unharmed. This is certainly not a pure coincidence - one would be blind to assume that. But why would the Horseman choose to kill someone in particular? What would he gain by killing someone or letting go of someone else? The answer, Linda, is nothing. _He _has nothing to gain."

A sound of disbelief escapes my lips. "Are you saying that the Horseman does not kill on his own accord?"

"Exactly"

The rickety chair creaks as I sink back on it. "Then who…?"

"That still remains a mystery. But it is a mystery I am resolved to deconstruct. I shall discover the cause of the killings and remove it. What is sure, is that the real assassin is a man of flesh and blood, one who is embroiled in dark magic, I'm afraid. When I dug up the Horseman's grave I discovered that his skull was missing. I believe this is what the culprit uses in order to control him"

I let a few silent moments pass, allowing the new information to sink in. Then, an idea strikes me.

"I'll be back in a minute", I fumble as I get on my feet and run to my room. A few moments later, I return, hiding something beneath the folds of my dress. Locking the door, I take out my cell phone and show it to Ichabod.

"What is this?", he asks, bewildered.

"It is a cell phone. A device that can make and receive phone calls. This means that I can communicate with someone, provided that they own one, too, as well as that there is signal - I won't get into details because most of its functions are useless here. Besides, I could not explain to you how it works even if I tried. What is important here, is the fact that it can take photographs which means that it can capture images." I take a random photo and show it to him. "I don't know how you're supposed to fight black magic and headless apparitions but it can't be easy… so, maybe, a technological precedence will be of some help… I don't know… For what it's worth, you can have it. You need it more than I do, anyway."

He carefully takes it in his hands and studies the picture I took. Tapping a few random buttons with an almost childish fascination, he flashes me a look of astonishment. "Extraordinary."

"I hope it proves to be useful."

"I do not know how to thank you"

"Nonsense. Consider it an act of compensation for my delay to give you the report. The only downside is, it is bound to turn off in a few days max. For good. So whatever you do with it, I suggest you do it quick."

"Turn off you say?", he stutters, always holding it carefully.

"I'm afraid so. Normally, it would have shut down earlier, but I used as little as possible"

"Then, I suppose there is no time to loiter." He frowns and stares at it for a while, contemplating something. Placing it gently on his desk, he looks up at me. "We need to go to the Western Woods."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to Monstarzgirl, bleach102, This is, noodle86 and TheElegantFairie for their reviews! Keep them coming guys, they always manage to make me smile and they really motivate me to continue! ****:)**


	11. Fortune Tellings And Nightmare Echoes

**A/N: Sorry for the late update guys, but this chapter is quite a hefty one and real life tends to get in the way of fic-posting. Thank God it's spring break, which will hopefully mean less pressure and more writing time *crosses fingers*. Now, I noticed a great demand for the Horseman in the comments and, well, I couldn't bear to disappoint my readers. Hintedy hint hint... :P Okay, enough of my ramblings... On with the story!  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>I see your face before my eyes<em>  
><em>I'm falling into darkness<em>  
><em>Why must I fight to stay alive?<em>  
><em>Heroes falling<br>_

Creeping In My Soul - Christine Lorentzen

* * *

><p>"I still can't believe you convinced me to do this"<p>

"Must you always demur?"

I kick a few dead leaves that cling to my skirts and flash Ichabod an annoyed look. The light gray of early dawn makes everything seem even more lifeless and I feel every fine hair on the back of my neck prickle.

"It's allowed", I mutter over the sound of crunching leaves. "I think we're insane… Taking our morning stroll in the Western Woods"

"Barely a stroll.", he dryly replies, getting more nervous by the minute.

I look around at the endless continuance of trunks and bare branches that stand out in the thin mist. Perhaps insisting on not taking horses was not such a bright idea, after all. Then again, I really didn't want to admit that I don't know how to ride one.

"Are you sure you know the way?", I ask, more for the sake of keeping up a conversation than anything.

"I do"

"I wouldn't want us to get lost in here or anything…", I ramble on.

"We will not"

"I mean, the forest seems to stretch on forever…"

"There is nothing to worry about"

Losing my cool, I go for something more drastic. "How can you say that? Maybe we shouldn't have come…"

"As I repeatedly said yesterday, Linda, we are here to collect photographs. I must gather evidence. Perhaps there is something I disregarded on my previous survey…"

"…Something the photographs might reveal upon further observation… I know. I just don't understand the reason you insisted that I follow you."

He gives me half a look. "Well, I cannot use this device without your supervision. You are more… experienced, so to speak and this should be done the proper way. This is probably my only chance.", he replies, faintly tetchy. "Besides, the Horseman does not ride in the light of day."

Although that last part sounds calmative and reassuring, that feeling of disquietude doesn't leave me. The physical absence of the Horseman does little to keep me from feeling jumpy and weak. I can almost feel his presence all over the area, hanging in the haunted silence of the trees.

I wish I didn't know what facing him felt like…

Fixing my gaze on the carpet of dead leaves I step on, I stay quiet for the rest of the way, getting more and more nervous as we get closer to the cursed tree. To my dismay, Ichabod is not in a better state, either. His clipped and peevish answers are a clear indication of his growing unsettlement.

About twenty minutes later, I hear him come to a halt.

"What is it?", I ask, stopping beside him.

"See that cave over there?", he asks, pointing at a narrow creak on a huge rock, that stands at the end of a tunnel, formed by lurching trees.

"Yes", I reply, almost in a whisper. "What is it?"

"Here lives the witch of the Western Woods."

…As if that explained it all.

I look back at him, in awe. "Someone lives here?"

"Yes."

"A witch!"

"Yes!"

Τhe leaves beneath my feet crunch as I shuffle closer to the cave. "What if she is the one controlling the Horseman?"

Ichabod starts walking again in a fast pace, following a path that stretches out to our left. "She is not"

"How do you know it?", I inquire, darting beside him.

"I have already spoken with her. She is slightly unhinged, but nonetheless harmless."

"Maybe she could be of some help."

"She has already assisted me in her one and only way."

"Which is?"

"Showing me to the Tree of the Dead"

"If she knew that, she might know more"

"I doubt it"

"Perhaps we should pay her a visit"

He abruptly stops and turns around, eyeing me strictly. "That will not be necessary"

"It might be helpful, though.", I shakily object.

He sucks his cheeks and breathes sharply out his nose, his mouth flattening in a tense line. "Very well. If you wish to visit her, I cannot be the one to hinder you. But I shall not come along.", he says, no ifs ands or buts allowed. "Follow this path and you will find the Tree of the Dead. I will be waiting there."

Taking a step back, I nod assertively. "I won't take long"

He doesn't say anything and I know he thinks I'm procrastinating. Perhaps, unconsciously, I am. The thought of viewing the mystic tree is not exactly a pleasant one, anyway. Either way, Ichabod just turns on his heel without a second word and pads away into the thickness of the woods.

Being left alone, I take a deep breath and make for the cave's opening. Feeling my hesitation gaining ground, I quickly charge forwards and briskly push the crummy door, without even bothering to knock first. Mainly because I know that if I don't do this quick, I won't do it at all.

The door opens with a loud creak and I feel the breath catch in my throat at the sight I come across. A figure, covered in a grey veil is sitting by the fire of an improvised fireplace, humming some sort of melody in a pitched, crooked voice that could make anyone's knees buckle. Candles are wedged all around the spacious shelter, casting more shadows than actual light on the craggy walls and I even notice in disgust that a bat is hanging from the ceiling.

…Is that dead? Oh God, please make it be dead…

For a moment, I stand halfway out the entrance, wavering between staying or making a run for it.

Well, Ichabod wasn't exactly keen on coming and it must be a good reason for him to say that he'd rather wait at the freaking Tree of the Dead than come here. As in, wait all by himself. Right next to the Headless Horseman's grave.

As if it's a little safer…

Ooookay, I'm out of here.

Trying to be noiseless, I turn on my heel and actually get to take a step or two. But then, "Leaving so soon?"

Crap.

Slightly cringing, I turn around. "I… I… I didn't mean to…"

"Oh yes, you meant to.", the figure states, getting up and scuffling towards me.

I think it's safe to say that I'm officially busted.

"Are you… Are you the Witch of the Western Woods?", I dumbly ask, looking to say anything that could take me out of my awkward position.

"I see you know of me", the crone answers with a wicked chuckle. "Come closer, love. Nothing to be afraid of."

I stay still in response, my fingers gripping the gnarled, wooden excuse of a door.

"Now, now. Scared, are you?", she continues, a faint element of mocking tinting her words. A bloodless hand comes up in an instant and gets hold of my wrist. It's not a hostile or painful gesture but the icy touch makes me flinch and I fitfully try to pull my hand back.

She chuckles again, almost enjoying my stupefaction. "Are you from the Hollow?" Raising her other hand, she lightly touches my cheek. This time, I don't dare move.

"No. No, you are not", she answers to herself matter-of-factly.

"How… how would you know that?", I meekly ask, but I receive no answer.

"What is it that a young woman seeks in these woods?", she curiously asks back, letting go of me and backing away, much to my relief.

I try to put my thoughts back in order. "Do you know about the Headless Horseman?"

"Another one asking for him…", she mumbles to herself and slowly paces across the room. "I know he rides at nights… for the sake of bloodshed. To the Hollow and back…Yes, I smell the blood on him…"

"And…?", I shakily goad.

"Are you in search of his resting place?"

"The tree? I… I know where to find it." I fold my arms. "I was just wondering if you knew anything… else. Perhaps something that would help stop him."

Walking about the cave, she scuffles behind me and I tense up as I feel her veiled eyes size me up.

"Will you be the one to stop him?", she asks, having me wonder if that was a genuine question or a taunting remark.

I never get the chance to figure it out, though. Grabbing me by the shoulders, she drags me further into the cave and abruptly ushers me to a chair, behind a carious table.

The sight of a rusty pair of chuckles, resting limply on the wooden surface makes my mouth hang open and I cannot but look dumbly at the various jars and crocks that lie in front of me, unable to utter a word.

The crone hastily goes to sit right across of me. Much to my relief, she shoves aside the fetters. "I know not of the ghost nor his deeds." Moving frenziedly, she throws all sorts of powders and liquids in a pot. I'm seriously contemplating fleeing when she suddenly grasps my hand. "But I shall show you _your _course."

"That won't be necessa-", I start but I'm cut short by the feel of something sharp gliding painfully down my palm.

I watch in dumbfounded horror as the witch makes a small but deep cut in my hand and sprinkles a drop of my blood into the pot. Russet smoke emerges from it and she inhales deeply, taking it in.

"You walk among them, but you're not one of them.", she mumbles shakily and I feel the blood freeze in my veins.

Alright, she's got my attention.

"Heedlessness has been your ardent guide. But this time, your fate is sealed."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have sealed it."

I shake my head, unable to understand.

"I might just go…", I state, a whisper barely audible.

As a response, the door slums shut.

Oh God…

"Do not move or speak.", she orders and drags me closer to her, until I'm lurching over the table. "Woe is the day she found fault with you. There is no time.

I frenziedly try to pull away. "Wait… I…Time for what…?"

"You have no time… Listen! The crimson-eyed snake is the way in… The crimson-eyed snake is the way out."

"I don't-I don't understand!"

"The snake… The crimson-eyed snake", she rages on.

Even though her words don't even begin to make sense, for some reason, a crippling fear stabs right through me and I frenziedly try to pull away.

"Please let me go!"

Pulling my hand back, I violently get on my feet and make for the door. I'm halfway out when I hear a bewailing cry. Glancing back, I see her slump over the table and then go limp.

I'm so out of here.

I stumble out and take a few giddy steps. Neglecting to hitch my skirts, I tumble over them and fall down with a loud crunch. For a while I just stay there, panting and trying to take stock of the situation. In the end, it proves to be fruitless for there is only one thing that bounces in my head. It's not exactly a thought. More like a general wondering.

What the hell was that?

Honestly, it seemed like she knew the truth about me but then she went all buggy, screeching and bawling and auguring and generally acting batty…

I mean, I don't even…

Christ!

Ichabod. I have to find Ichabod.

Reaching out to a nearby trunk, I propel myself up and force my feet to find their own way. My legs guide me mechanically through the path that leads to the tree, feet pounding hard, cold sweat running down my forehead and I'm panting and wheezing and moving and living and what the hell was that back there?

I reach the familiar clearing and hesitate. Part of me needs to come in contact with a rational human being as soon as possible, but I know I'm still quite mussy and I couldn't explain to Ichabod what happened, even if I wanted to.

Taking a handkerchief out of my pocket, I press it against my palm, letting it absorb the blood that still spurts from the cut.

My eyes glance down my hands nonchalantly and I wince at the sight of the many cerise little marks on my palms, that look like nothing and sting like hell. God, my hands are a royal mess. First, the chips the night of Johanna's murder, now this stinging little notch… I wonder how I can still hold objects.

Hiding my handkerchief back into my pocket, I push myself forwards.

The first thing my eyes slump into is the tree. Even though I have seen it before, it is now that I get that sharp, shivery feeling that forces tears in my eyes and makes each breath heavier than the previous one. From the tangled clutter of roots, my glazing gaze trails up the tree, past the eerie leaning of the trunk and stops at its bare, hair-raising branches. The unbroken silence, the sweltering lack of even the slightest breeze and the mist that flows through the woods but seems afraid of veiling the Tree of the Dead is so surreal and unnatural that I feel coolness trickle down my spine.

If Ichabod wasn't standing there, over the tree's cavity, I wouldn't manage to keep my cool.

"You're here at last". It's a statement filled with relief.

I nod. Try to seem almost upbeat. I don't know if it works, but Ichabod is not in the mood to chitchat and I'm thankful for that.

He hops down in front of the tree's opening and shoots me a painstaking look. "Have you learnt anything of importance?"

I shake my head. "No. You were right. She is… rather… crazed.", I slowly reply after a few seconds, answering to myself as well.

A sudden thought jolting through him, he abruptly turns away.

"Well, then. We should not dawdle. Do you have your cell phone?"

I cautiously take it out of my inner pocket and get to work.

At first, I'm hesitant, keeping clear of the craning branches, clinging to every direction Ichabod gives, avoiding to step directly in front of the tree's hollow, almost afraid that the Hessian's horse might suddenly emerge and stomp all over me. As time goes by, however, I unconsciously dare get closer and photo after photo, I eventually find myself inches away from the rugged bark.

Tossing my phone back into my pocket, I swallow awkwardly, my stare fixed on the tree's trunk. A sudden discovery cuts through me, making my guts clench with a sickening disorientation.

The tree is not completely still. Although it is insensible from a distance, from where I'm standing, it is crystal clear that the bark makes a slight, wavering movement like a chest rising and falling with each breath. I bring a hand up and lightly touch it, my breath catching at the lively feel of the warm wood against my palm. A strange mix of emotion washes over me. I know dread is there, but at the same time I feel eerily drawn to the site.

It's almost like a living being.

"Ichabod…?", I shakily lisp.

"I know."

I give him a look and his eyes flash with impatience. "I cannot explain it. Are you finished?"

A numb dullness sinks through me, blotting out my twisted affection. I manage a nod.

"Then we can go."

I recoil and scuffle my way to him. Tightening my shawl around my shoulders, I briskly turn around and look at the tree, ruffled by the sentiment it incites. It's so out of place, so diverse, so incongruous.

I'm not sure I want to feel like this.

Turning my head away, I try to focus on something else, anything but the miraculous tree and its dark beauty.

I turn to Ichabod. A flame of fear hints his eyes and I tug my lips into a heartening smirk.

I don't like the idea of walking in silence for the rest of the way, especially after everything I came across today.

You could say that it was an interesting day though… In a weird, macabre way.

Heh. I wonder how I can still find elements of amusement in this.

"You know…", I say out of the blue. "We never had that talk about the twenty-first century"

"True", he concurs, his interest already stimulated. "That is probably because I don't know where to begin."

I snort some kind of chaffing laugh at this, prepared to unfold a whole new world in front of him. "I had a hunch you were really fond of inventions…

* * *

><p>A few hours later, I am dining with the Van Tassel household, just like every other evening, aimlessly poking my roast beef with my fork like a five year old with a poor appetite, confident that no one is paying attention to me.<p>

The furious hum of voices around me is enough to make me tune out.

Although my conversation with Ichabod was enough to distract me from the day's events on our way back from the Western Woods, my encounter with the witch… It just won't leave me in peace now.

"_Your fate is sealed"_

My mind plays tricks on me, re-running the whole direful experience in stops and starts like a broken record.

I wish I could just brush it off. You know, say that it means nothing and that it's just stupid and then actually believe myself.

God, but I shouldn't have gone into the cave. Or rather, I shouldn't have stayed after she made clear she knew no more that I did about the Horseman. But, no. I had to stay, I had to listen. Just in case she _could _get a glimpse of the future. Because if time traveling and waking the dead is possible, then why not this as well?

Now, I'm even more baffled than before. The way I see it, though, there is only one thing to do. Hide the whole fortune-telling mumbo jumbo in a box in my head and then shut it out.

Refuse to linger.

"May I have your attention for a moment, please? I would like to make an announcement."

All conversations stop. I place my fork on my plate and turn to look at Lord Van Tassel who is standing at the head of the table, drumming on his glass with his spoon.

"Due to some business issues of mine I will have to travel to New York for the weekend. Constable Crane informed me that he is to visit New York himself for those two days as well, so I would like to suggest that we all journey to the city. View it as an entertainment trip. Something to raise our spirits during this dark time. It would be quite enlivening, don't you think my dear?", he turns to his wife, his tone getting mellower.

An honest smile spreads across Lady Van Tassel's face. "Most certainly. A change of scenery will do us some good."

A content smile spreads across his face. "Splendid! It is settled then. We shall visit the city in two days."

That is new… And a no-no. Don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly thrilled about staying in Sleepy Hollow all by myself, but if I follow them to New York it'll be crystal clear that I've never been to the city before. Which is bound to get me in some pretty awkward situations. So no. Just no. The Hollow it is.

I give Lord Van Tassel my best attempt at a fake smile. "Sir", I start, trying not to make eye contact "Could I… perhaps… _remain _in Sleepy Hollow?"

His expression goes from pleasantness to faint confusion in mere seconds. "Why, child? Wouldn't you like to travel with us?"

Oh my God. Quick, think of something…

I swallow uncomfortably. "I would, I really would but…" I hesitate. "I don't want to be a burden. I mean, you have shown me so much kindness, providing me with a house and supporting me, that following on your vacation as well, would make me feel like I'm exploiting this kindness. Young Masbath and I could stay here. We would only be an expense for you, sir."

"Aunt Linda…?", young Masbath cuts me off "I was wondering if I could go to New York with Constable Crane"

I flash him a confused look and sit back. "I don't think so, Jonathan. Constable Crane will probably be quite busy and…"

"This is not an issue.", Ichabod lightly intervenes. "I must return for a couple of days, as I have been away for well almost three months now. I have already discussed the matter with young Masbath and I would be more than glad to show him to the city."

"Are you sure he won't be a burden?"

"Absolutely"

To be honest, I'm still in the 'blinking in confusion' and 'trying to comprehend that everyone's determined to leave the village for the weekend' stage, but I do manage a polite smile. "I suppose it's alright, then…"

"But, Ms. Masbath, that means you will be left alone. That would be most unorthodox.", Lord Van Tassel barks from his seat. "And quite precarious may I add. I cannot allow it"

Damn.

Why won't he just let me stay here? What danger is there for me? Whoever controls the Horseman made it clear that they want nothing from me, anyway, so there's nothing to worry about, really.

"Sir-", I begin but then…

"Oh Baltus, there is no reason to make such a fuss out of it." Lady Van Tassel flashes me a sly smile. "If Ms. Masbath wishes to stay in the Hollow, then so be it. We will only be away for two days."

"And if my staying in _this_ house is a problem, I can always move to the Masbath estate.", I add, encouraged by my new ally.

"No, of course not", Lord Van Tassel retorts immediately "There is no reason for you to take leave. But I am not sure…"

"Darling…", Lady Van Tassel purrs "I am sure everything will be all right."

His eyes glance at Lady Van Tassel, then at me and back at his wife, his forehead pulping in an expression of defeat.

He lets out a sigh and sits back. "Very well. But in case you reconsider, do not hesitate to apprise me.

* * *

><p>A cold January day dawns and I wake up, already fidgety and anticipative.<p>

This will be the first day in months which I'll actually spend alone.

Yup. All by myself.

In complete and utter solitude.

Heh…

I systematically go through my morning routine, washing, dressing, eating breakfast. Then comes the departure. Lord Van Tassel offered Ichabod a seat in his carriage so they're all leaving together. I hug Katrina goodbye, advise young Masbath to be prudent in a motherly tone that is so not me and warmly wave everyone goodbye.

I don't want to admit that I'm actually kind of nervous because if I do, I know Lord Van Tassel will immediately force me to join them. And that would be worse.

So, it's only after their carriage is no more than a blurry dot in the distance that I allow the plastered smile to fade from my face.

Most of the day flows on slowly. Painfully so. I pictured these two days as a lighthearted period of contemplation and sluggardness but… well… for some reason I can't even sit down. I just feel like an intruder and I've never been comfortable with intrusiveness. I feel like I have no right to be here. Like I don't belong. And suddenly my doggedness to stay behind seems somewhat amiss, woven in a knot of insecurity.

Me being insecure. Now that's a shocker.

I snoop around the hallways for a while, peering behind heavy, sculpted doors, aimlessly pushing stuff around and generally not knowing what to do. I got into rooms I had never seen before though - yes the mansion is that big - and let me tell you, some of them made mine look like a stable.

Eventually, an idea dawns on me, prodding a sneaky, stupid smile to spread across my face.

I head towards my room, hesitating for a moment as I shut the door behind me, a pang of nostalgia cutting through me. Propelling myself towards the closet, I hurriedly dig out my clothes from the back corner.

My own clothes.

Boy, did I miss them… Washing them and keeping them somewhere safe was probably a good idea.

I toss my underwear, jeans, tank top and jacket on the bed in aloof contentment and even drag out my red tennis shoes. Kicking the closet door closed, I hastily begin to undo the laces of my gown, a childish excitement edging my moves. A rumple of fabric forms around my feet as my petticoats join my dress on the floor and I swiftly slide each leg into my pants, relishing the feel of the denim wrapping tightly around my hips. After slipping into my top and jacket and putting on my shoes, I step before the mirror and scrape my hair back into a spunky high ponytail. My outfit is nothing beautiful to envisage, but it's plain and comfortable. It's me.

A slow smile curls my lips. For the first time after months, I feel like I can be myself. Unworried, unguarded, unconstrained.

Free.

As the reality of my position becomes all the more clear, my initial inhibitions dissolve.

I could stay in bed if I wanted, gazing at the clouded world outside my window. I could stay there and no one would judge. But today, I want to achieve something.

…Although I don't really know what yet…

I stay there, leisurely pondering that and eventually, I make the decision to clean the house.

Which, I guess, counts as productive.

I start by tidying the ground floor. Scrubbing it, dusting it, bottom to top. Even the endless piles of books go back to their shelves.

By the time I'm finished, it's late afternoon, the sun is already setting and I'm completely drained of energy.

I decide to settle in the parlor. Carrying a warm blanket from my room, I leave it on the settee and go to light the fireplace. Once the task is done, I approach the window and unmindfully gaze outside. The crescent moon is already visible in the unusually clear sky, faintly gleaming over smoking chimneys and windows lit with a soft golden glow.

I open the window, taking in the rainy scents of leaves and damp earth that chase in with the chilling breeze. The freezing draft makes the fire in the room flicker and I shiver, feeling the icy cold sting take my breath away. I don't move away, though. Neither do I close the window, despite the flames of the fireplace that are struggling to provide the room with warmth. I just wrap my jacket tightly around my torso and stay put for as long as I can bear it, grinning and feeling my teeth chatter. So what if it's stupid? No one's here to tell me I shouldn't do it.

I turn around and glance at the room. The night has almost fallen and the light the fire throws off is soft and shadowy, making me feel all heavy and drowsy.

Sluggishly slamming the window closed, I drag my feet all the way to the settee and lie down, burying myself under my warm blanket. Thankful for this moment of complete silence, I quietly watch the igneous flames in the fireplace dance until I feel my eyelids go heavy and close, engulfing me into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I open my eyes again, it is well over midnight. I sit up and rub my eyes, trying to overcome my sleepiness. The fire has burnt out, condemning the room into chilliness and making it hard for me to see.

I teeteringly get on my feet and fumble blindly, searching for a candle. Lighting one, I carry it with me in the kitchen.

I heaven't eaten anything all day and the noises my stomach makes resemble those of a dying whale.

I quicken my pace as I cross the dark hallway, the grotesque shadows of the furniture making me cringe.

Entering the kitchen, I leave my candle on the table and sit down, reaching for the fruit bowl in front of me.

The gloomy murkiness of the room makes me slightly fidgety and I linger there for a while, almost expecting something nasty to pounce on me.

There's nothing though, but for me and my 'dinner'.

I lightly chuckle to myself for being so jittery and grab an apple, a faint sense of calmness spreading in my chest.

But it doesn't last.

I'm lazily lurking over the table, my free hand supporting my head as I nibble tiny mouthfuls when I hear it.

The familiar whinny of a horse.

The way my heart jolts in my chest is almost painful.

I sit up and toss my half eaten apple on the table, a little more forcibly than intended, my imagination running riot.

What. The. Hell.

My thoughts go everywhere at once, none of them making much sense. Is it the Horseman? No, why would he be back? Is it someone else? I'd like to think that, but I'm not waiting for anyone and besides, who goes for a ride in the middle of the night? Was it my imagination? It could be.

I mean, probably.

Right. Rational thinking. It was just my imagination. My sick, traumatized imagination. This wouldn't be the first time it plays tricks on me, anyway. For the first few days after Johanna's murder, I saw the Hessian in every person that entered through the door.

The neighing sound is heard again, clearer than before.

I so didn't imagine that.

Μy pulse races and I can feel the thin layer of tranquility I managed to acquire get shattered into millions of stinging little pieces.

Suddenly, I feel the urge to get up and hide. Or run. Or skitter hysterically around the room.

But I don't. I just stay silently on my seat and stare at the table.

I don't want to get up and panic in case it isn't the Horseman. That would make me feel stupid. Then again, I don't want to stay put in case it is him. Because that would put me at even greater risk. And with him being undead and all, there won't be much hope for my survival.

…I did not need that realization right now.

Alright. Again. Rationality. I shouldn't let the whinny of a horse have me at the edge of my seat. It's not like I'm paranoid. Besides. Why would the Horseman be back? He had a chance to kill me and he ostentatiously ignored me. And lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place, right?

Right.

So, I'll just stay there.

In the kitchen…

Behind the table…

On my chair…

Eating.

Argh, but if it's not the Horseman, the who is it?

You know what? I'll just go peer behind the front door. Just to make sure everything's alright. Then I'll get back to my meal, laughing at myself for being such a chicken.

I haul the chair backwards, get up, slam my knees against the foot of the table because I haven't had a bruise in weeks and exit the room, my andrenaline pumping.

I slide down the hallway and give half a look at the window. Pretendind that it was enough, I turn around, intending to go upstairs and have a bath, the only sure-fire way I know to relax.

I barely clamber up the first few creaking steps, when the front door smashes open and I freeze, standing stupidly where I stopped.

He's here.

The Hessian.

My hand clenches on a white knuckle grip on the handrail like it's some sort of life line, or rather it would clench if it didn't tremble so bad and I stare at the headless figure that's standing in the doorway, utterly stupefied.

A feeling of déjà vu washes over me. The scene is so similar to that horrid night, when I first saw him. Only this time, there is no one's head in his hand.

This time he's here for me.

Black dots dance in front of my eyes, my mind struggling to understand as my hand falls to my side like a dead weight.

The movement is enough to attract his attention. His gloved hand reaches to his side and takes out his sword, swiftly whirling it as if to warn me.

Something wakes inside of me.

Even if I can't grip the edges of why this is happening, I know the only thing for me to do is run. If someone is controlling him, there is no way of stopping him.

Panic seeping in, I turn around and scramble up the rest of the staircase. My own pulse fills my ears but it's not enough to block out the sound of slow, heavy footsteps behind me.

He doesn't speed up. Why doesn't he speed up?

Glancing behind me, I see him follow me in the same, apathetic way and it freaks me out even more. Because if he made an actual effort, that would mean there was still hope for me. But no. He's just casually walking behind me, as if waiting for me to turn around and go to him. It's like he's telling me that no matter what I do, how fast I run or where I hide, he'll eventually catch me.

I try not look behind. I try not to think about it. God, but I'm practically trapped!

Eyes wild, I keep running as fast as I can, throwing behind me whatever piece of furniture I come across, in hopes of slowing him down even further. Cold waves of horror crush my stomach but I don't stop, until I cross the hallway and reach a dead end.

I waver there for a while, struggling to decide on what to do as the sound of crumbling furniture and spurred footfalls saps my already lacking concentration.

Eventually, I open a random door on my right and storm into the room, slamming the door shut behind me.

I freeze, a painful thud in my chest. I'm in the main bedroom. My eyes desperately scan the spacey, heavily furnished area and I'm on such a high, that I have to suppress a shuddery sob.

Crap! Crap, I've got to do something.

A few thoughts reach through the blind fog of panic.

I force my feet to move and hastily begin dragging chairs, couches, chests and generally whetever I can move and placing them against the door.

I know it's not enough. I know the Horseman will eventually get in. But it buys me time.

Time to do what?

I move from drawer to drawer, fumbling frenziedly for something to defend myself but it proves to be fruitless as the most dangerous thing I come across is a freaking pen!

Oh God, I don't know what to do…

In an act of pure willpower, I open the closet and blindly jumble inside, the sound of an axe hitting the door, prodding tears of agony in my eyes and blurring my vision.

I touch something that is not cloth and fitfully drag it out. Seeing that it's a poke, I shake it until it's content rolls on the ground.

With a final blow, the door blasts open, but I've come to a standstill, oblivious to the noise behind me.

A human skull. It's lying on the floor less than a foot away.

I blink. Confused. Why was a human skull in a bag in the Van Tassels' bedroom?

I…

Oh God…

I glance up and spot the Hessian leaping over the stack of furnishing in front of the now destroyed door. Grabbing the skull, I get back on my feet and take a few steps back until my back is against the door of the closet.

He approaches me in a torturously slow pace, unruffled, and I just stay there, panting and shaking and wishing that I could just close my eyes and make it all go away.

Dammit, get a freaking grip.

I raise the skull in front of me. "Is that… yours?"

He comes to a halt.

"Is that what you want?", I ask again, my voice cracking.

His stupor is enough an answer.

"Okay…", I lisp.

For a moment I hesitate. Then, I throw it at him.

He sheathes his sword and reaches out for the head. Catching it, he places it over his shoulders.

Veins and flesh start to reform in a process that seems quite painful. His hands are gripped on his collar and he's shaking, his mouth open in a grimace of agony.

Damn, but it's too hard to watch. Holding my breath, I shut my eyes closed and slide down the door till I'm sitting down, curled up and on the verge of passing out.

This isn't happening.

A hand clasps my arm and pulls me upwards, forcing me to my feet.

I feel faint at the sight I come across.

The Horseman.

Only, he's not headless anymore.

Every other thought fades in the background as my eyes lock with a pair of unnaturally bright blue ones. My ears ringing, as my mind struggles to comprehend what it's seeing and I keep telling myself that this isn't real, but he's still there, wild raven hair making a contrast with his pale skin, his mouth open enough to expose two streaks of sharp teeth and his icy glare tracing over me in a way that makes me wish the laws of physics would kindly make an exception so that the ground would swallow me whole.

He takes a step closer. "You…", he growls, the sound of his husky voice buzzing right through me.

Me… what…?

Trying to avert his terrifying eyes, I look down and the shock hits me anew, surging like an open wound.

A snake with ruby eyes is sculpted on the hilt of his sword.

I gasp, wishing that I had enough strength to scream, fingers shaking as I fumble for support behind me.

And that's the last I remember before the floor slaps up to meet me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to TheElegantFairie, MonstarzGirl, bleach102, noodle86, RAswimmer2012, Lady Avotil and HessianLover99 for reviewing! :D** **You're amazing! *hands out cookies***


	12. Getting The Wrong Idea

_You take the breath right out of me  
>You left a hole where my heart should be<br>You gotta fight just to make it through  
>Cause I will be the death of you<em>

Breath - Breaking Benjamin

* * *

><p>My head hurts. Like hell. Τhis has to be the worst headache I've had in my life.<p>

It's the first thought that reaches me and sinks home.

My eyes feel sore and unused as I open them and everything drifts fuzzily out of focus. So I close them again, just for a while, my hand rumpling the sheets beneath me as eyeballs of pain stab directly into my frontal lobe…

Wait a sec…

Sheets?

My disorientation is so strong that my headache temporarily fades as I make an attempt to sit up.

I don't remember passing out on a bed. And I don't remember having seen this particular bed before.

…Huge, canopy bed….

…Where am I?

I shakily inhale, as awareness of my surroundings creeps in. I'm in some kind of bedroom, the only pieces of furniture being the bed I'm currently sitting on, a closet and an armchair. Normally, the room would seem empty, but small as it is, it looks kind of… comfy. Bright little candles hang from the stony walls, being the only source of light as there are no windows. Overall, the room has a somewhat earthy feeling to it and it is filled with drizzly scents of wood and dewy soil.

I'm definitely not in the Van Tassel manor.

Sharp daggers stab thoughts through my mind. Images come flooding back. The murky darkness of the mansion. Shattering doors. The hilt of a sword. Eyes. Radiating blue eyes.

I need to get up.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and lightly push myself to my feet. Looking down, I notice in aloof wonderment that there is no actual floor. No wood, no tiles… Just dry earth.

I have a slight suspicion that I'm somewhere underground…

My eyes roam around a little more steadily than before and I spot two doors, one on my left and one my right.

Okay…

Hands pressing against my temples, I gingerly approach the door on the right wall.

I still my heaving shoulders. Nails dig into palms. Deep breath. I can do this. There's nothing behind that door I cannot deal with. I warily push it open and…

It's a bathroom.

Argh, what the hell is this place?

Fighting the stem of dizziness, I abruptly turn on my heel and lope towards the other door. Clasping the doorknob as if it was the reason of my rotten luck, I bounce the door open.

Uh-oh.

Fright washes over me like a bucket of water, as two icy blue eyes pierce right into mine.

The Hessian is standing right before the now open door, the look on his face going from faint startle to unreadable stoniness in mere seconds.

My mind jerks and stumbles to conclusions, getting ripped towards every direction all at once. What am I to do now? What does he expect me to do? Why Isn't he moving? Why isn't he speaking? Why am I still alive?

Am I still alive?

He takes a few steps closer, looking me over and I freeze. However, he casually passes me by.

I turn around, watching him stride into the room, before he turns towards me again, casting a brief frown. "Slept well, little witch?" he mockingly asks, the words rolling in a heavy German accent.

Oh, so he _does _speak.

My heart hammers painfully in my chest, each thud intensifying my headache and I…

Wait. Little _what_?

I blink blearily, my brain fighting to catch up. "Am I… dead?" I lisp in disbelief, taken aback by the hoarseness of my own voice.

"Not yet."

_Yet_?

My mouth dries up, feet stepping back till I hit the wall as he strides closer. For a while we just stand there. He's staring. I'm staring. We're both just… staring. Or rather he's glaring. And I don't know why.

I raise my hand and tuck a few loose strands behind my ear, my eyes momentarily drifting to the sleeve of my jacket.

Jacket?

Damn, I'm still in my jeans and top.

I cringe inwardly. This isn't good. "Where am I?"

"Where do you think?"

I shake my head. "…I don't know"

A terrifying smirk plays upon his face. "Look up."

"W-What?"

"Look. Up."

I give him a long stare before I do as he says.

Instead of the ceiling, I see a tangled jumble of thick roots.

Some sort of understanding creeps over me. "Are we… Are we _under _the _Tree_?"

That earns me a look of amusement. "Kluges Mädchen"

My lacking knowledge of German does not hinder me from picking the irony in his words.

I stiffen. Shoot him an acute look. "So… I take that as a yes."

He returns the glare and I try to ignore it and the edgy feeling it sets off, try to take stock of the situation. "Why am I here?"

He doesn't respond and for some irrational reason I begin to regret asking. For a moment I cringe under his gaze, wondering if he's going to snap. It almost looks as if he's going there as well and I tense, waiting for it, but then he simply frowns and comes even closer, leaving me little to no space. "You are exactly where you belong."

"I don't… understand…"

"Ist es so schwer? Ich denke nicht."

Ugh.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "I said. I don't understand" I put back, a little proud of myself for managing to sound resolved.

He doesn't seem to share my gratifying feelings though.

"Do _not _raise your voice to me."

I try to look like his tone didn't affect me. "I think I have a right to know what this is all about."

He lets out a low, hair-raising chuckle. "A _right_? Allow me to make some things clear. _Here_, you have no right to do anything. You have no right to demand things, you have no right to ask questions, you have no right to even _breathe_ if I do not allow it." He studies me for a moment longer. "Verstanden?"

Anger and bafflement at his feral manner washes over me.

Does he hate me? Is he angry with me? Seriously? What have I ever done to him? If he should feel something for me, that is gratitude. I gave him his head back!

Which, okay, was a terror-stricken act driven by my pure will to live, but that's beyond the point.

I look down with the feel of lead lining my stomach, wishing that I could do something daring like say something sassy or try to push him away so that I have enough space to think. Instead, my eyes look for an escape, fixing on the pattern of his armor with its silver red-eyed dragons, the torn part of his dark cloak, the dried mud on his boot.

Anything but his face.

"…But since you want to hear it so bad…", he continues, as if he never paused. "You are here by choice."

"Wha-?"

"You cost me my freedom. You forced me to do your bidding. You condemned me here, all in favor of some selfish, murdering plan of yours. And I do not take this kindly. It is only fair that you give back what you took away."

My thoughts go blank, I can't help it, my stomach doing panicking flips inside of me as I stupidly stare.

He thinks I'm… I'm… the…

Oh.

I force myself to look up. Swallow so awkwardly at my inability to form any words that I nearly choke. Nice. God, I feel dizzy again.

He places his hands against the wall, on either side of my head, practically caging me in and I know I could just stoop and get away, but my knees lock up and I feel unable to move. "You can't expect something for nothing" he adds, in a gruff whisper.

Hard, cold panic is cutting right through me and I know this is probably a good time to act. Not necessarily present a carefully constructed argument as to how this is a huge misunderstanding. Just utter a word. Do something useful. Something that does not involve wishing I could become tiny. Or invisible. Whatever gets me out of this suffocating situation more efficiently.

Focus, dammit!

Without a warning, he lowers his face towards mine and I'm suddenly very aware of how much taller he is than me. Then there's a breathless moment when my stomach lurches as I begin to comprehend what he's about to… oh no!

It all happens so quickly that it takes me a couple of seconds until I manage to grasp it. My hand comes up in an instant, trying to prevent him from coming any closer. _Prevent him _as in my index finger pressing lightly against his lips.

It works, but the look in his eyes is one of pure vexation. And I'm not exactly going for that.

Um. Um. Okay. Random panic. This is awkward. But I should probably lower my hand. Finally make that attempt at speaking as well?

"I'm… I'm not…" I begin, but it comes out all terrified and high-pitched and sqeaky. I close my eyes for a moment. Try to put my thoughts back in some kind of loose order. "This is wrong."

He steps back and I push away my relief. I can't screw this up. "What?"

"I'm not the one you want."

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in puzzlement. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not the one… who… _did this-_I'm not your witch."

He looks at me scornfully and for just a moment I can tell what's going through his mind. "Of course not."

"No, really. I mean… I mean…Really."

He doesn't respond and I know this is not a good sign. He probably thinks that I'm just trying to talk myself out of this. And that I'm failing. Miserably.

I fish around inside my brain for something convincing to say. "I mean, can't you see it? You got me but you're still here! Still under the Tree…"

He folds his arms, his face becoming cold and unreadable again. "Well, you _are _still alive."

I try my best not to look horrified, but the way my eyes widen does not escape his attention. "What? Do you think I would let you walk away from this?"

Not anymore.

"You're wrong…"

"Am I?"

"Please… you don't understand…"

"What I do understand is that you seemed to know exactly where my head was."

For a long moment, I stay still, trying to fight back my feelings. Horror, fury, desperation, all topped by my unwavering dizziness, cloud my mind and blur out each shot at sensibility.

"Then why didn't you kill me as soon as you got your head back? Why… _drag _me all the way here?" It comes out low and lifeless, despite my boiling anger.

He huffs a laughter. "Now, that would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

What the…?

Who the hell does he think he is?

I scowl. He ignores me and smiles coldly, his hand coming up to play jeeringly with an unruly lock of my hair.

And that's it. That small, audacious gesture is the pebble that sets off the avalanche. It's all it takes to make me snap.

I disdainfully push his hand away. Revel in the fact that he actually looks kind of surprised.

"Watch it," he warns.

In response, I do what could probably count as the stupidest idea I've had in weeks. I attack him, leaping out in an offensive maneuver I don't have the coordination to successfully pull off. He shoots a hand out to my shoudler and stops me, as if brushing away a fly. Unable to catch my footing, I start to fall, but he reaches out as quickly as he blocked me, keeping me upright. He doesn't intend to, but he presses my hand a little too strongly and I let out a choked weep, feeling the cuts on my hand sting under his touch. Eyeing me furiously, he pulls me closer till I'm in his unbreakable hold, his hand anchoring my head so that I cannot but look at him.

"Do not test me, little minx. You have no idea."

You know what? Neither does he. This hurts!

Mouth hanging open, I petulantly try to pull away, but it's no use, seeing as he stubbornly keeps me in place without much effort. After squirming for a while, I finally accept the fact that I'm not going anywhere unless he wants me to and break it off, settling for shooting daggers with my eyes.

He flashes me a sneering smile, obviously enjoying having the upper hand.

The bastard…

After making sure his point has come across, he abruptly lets go of me and I stumble a few steps back until I hit the wall.

"I would advise you not to try anything like this again", he says firmly and I'm in such a state that I cannot even snap back. "You've had it your way for too long. Now it is my turn."

He turns on his heel and makes for the door. Coming to a halt, he briefly turns towards me again, giving me a severe look. "Enjoy your stay."

And just like that, he quickly heads outside, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving me to sink down to the floor, trying to swallow back my tears.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to Monstarzgirl, LilithMorte, bleach102, noodle86, TheElegantFairie and Lady Avotil for reviewing!**


	13. This Is Not How It's Supposed To Go

**A/N:Yay, we're moving fast! Like a snail or something... *mutters about finals* **

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><p><em>Let's start over.<br>I'll try to do it right this time around.  
>It's not over.<br>'Cause a part of me is dead and in the ground.  
><em>It's Not Over - Daughtry

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><p>So let's just take a moment to take stock of the current situation.<p>

I'm trapped under the Tree of the Dead with a vicious undead German soldier who apparently hates me too much to just kill me and whose temper is too sharp to allow him to use that newly restored head of his rationally. Well…

Shit.

I don't mean to be rude and swear. My mum would be ashamed of me. But seriously. Shit.

It's been a good few hours since my lovely 'conversation' with the Hessian and all I've been doing is sitting there, where he left me and replaying it in my head over and over and over. And let me tell you, it seems vitally more embarrassing in retrospect.

My eyes drift closed as I sigh to myself. I really, really didn't handle this right.

Really.

I mean, seeing it from a more coherent point of view… it was humiliating.

There were all sorts of things I should have said. And I did nothing. I just stood there, stupefied. And although I don't like making excuses for myself, it's not like I was in a state to manage anything better. I mean, I was a shaking mess. And he was mad. And then I was mad…

…I still am.

What I'd really like to do, other than curl up and die in a dark room somewhere, is find a way to get past him and sneak out. But with him being right outside the bedroom and with no other way of escaping this pit, it's… well… impossible. And let's face it. Even if a miracle happened and I managed to beat him in a brawl, I would still be trapped down here.

…Which probably means that if I want to get out of this alive, somehow, I have to find a way to reason with him.

Dammit! Why, of all people, did it have to be _me_? Why did I have to get thrown in this mess and have him all enraged and 'You deserve to suffer'? Why couldn't he just not jump to conclusions like that? Why couldn't things go well just for once? Every time I think I'm doing fine and things are starting to get back in control, something terrible happens.

Oh screw this! I'm not going to mope over anything! I'm not going to sob and weep and snivel. Even if he doesn't see me. I don't want to cry!

Maybe I just need a moment to think straight… Maybe I need to form a plan…

Of course…

Deciding I need a plan, though, is not really helpful in actually thinking up one.

Uh… okay.

I'm going to have to go out there. I'm going to have to form coherent sentences and think up… reasons and pretend that my knees don't buckle when he looks at me. I'm going to have to be cold. And calculating. And I can't be that when he's near me. He makes it too damn hard. Christ, I've already faced him twice! Isn't that enough? Can't I just crawl under the bed and wait for the world to go away?

…Apparently not…

Feeling slightly edgy and more than a little sorry for myself, I get on my feet, grab the doorknob and then proceed to stare at it for an unnecessarily long amount of time until it blurs into a big smudge. Yeah, call me a coward - prolonging the inevitable and hiding, like I won't have to get out of here eventually. I just try to gather my courage, telling myself that it's okay to be afraid and that I have nothing to lose. That it's not right to give up without a fight. And that I'm determined to do the right thing…

Yeah… I'm still that.

I take a deep breath and venture out of the bedroom.

I take a curious look around, latching onto my surroundings. The room's noticeably bigger than the bedroom and the furnishing is fairly laconic but it's warm. There's just a neat table with a single chair and a couple of adequate armchairs slouching by an old-fashioned hearth.

The Hessian is sitting in one of them.

I close the door behind me, making sure the click it makes is fairly noticeable, and cheekily pace the room until I'm behind the empty armchair. Placing my hand on its back, I risk a look at him.

His jaw clenches as he senses me, but he doesn't turn.

So what now? Is he ignoring me?

I stand there, in that position until my legs go stiff. Seeing that it is no use, I turn around and go to sit on the table, swinging my legs over the edge like a little child, in hopes of provoking him.

I look at the random door on the opposite wall for a while, pretending to wonder where it could lead as I wait for him to say something, I don't know what. Tell me what he plans to do with me, demand I go back to the bedroom… whatever. But he just continues watching the fire with a stubbornness I know is aiming to tick me off.

Not that it manages to…

I cough a little less than subtly.

Yep. Still looking at the fireplace.

Huh. Fine.

Argh, no! It's not fine!

"Horseman?" It comes out more high-pitched than intended and I cringe at the realization, afraid that even my voice gives away my discomfiture.

There seems to be no reaction, though. At least not from where I'm standing.

I resist the urge to get up and wave my hand in front of his face and after a minute of irritating silence I try again. "So… you bring me to your _lair… _and now you're just going to ignore me?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

I jolt at the curtness of the reply, struggle to keep my voice firm. "I bet I could prove you wrong…"

He holds up a hand to shut me up. "Leave it. I don't want to know."

"You can't-"

"I said I don't want to know."

And that's it. That's all he says before he goes back to observing the fire. No anger, no harshness, no… no _nothing. _Just a big fat blank wall of blankness.

And I won't have it. Clenching my jaw, I get up and stomp across the room, until I'm standing in front of him. That earns me a cursory glance. The igneous light of the flames and the shadows they cast on his face accent his grave features and I fight to keep my single-mindedness from crumbling.

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I will not give up so easily."

His eyes trace slowly over my form and he breathes out through his nose impatiently. "What do you want?"

"World peace. What do _you _want?"

A low growl comes from the back of his throat. "Your attitude is too much for your own good."

I bite back a brassy 'likewise', trying hard to convince my brain that snapping back is not going to get me out of this.

"Well, excuse me for my lacking comprehension but I do not understand your… purpose. I mean, what now? It's just…", I shake my head at my inability to find the proper words. "What do you want with me? What were you thinking?"

I watch in prying astound as he turns towards the fire again, a cold, savage smile curling his lips.

"I should be the one asking you that question."

Oh. Right. The witch… thing again.

"So ask."

"What if I don't care?"

The way his eyes pierce into mine makes me want to take a step back. Or several.

I don't react, though; instead I stay still as a statue, my gaze falling to the blazing flames next to me. "I'm not a witch, I'm not the one who used you and despite what you may believe I had no idea your head was in the house until I stumbled upon it."

He says nothing. That gives me a false sense of cheekiness.

"You just… you just jumped to conclusions and that's not… right. I mean, you should have given me a chance to… I don't know… explain myself. You had no right to carry me off like that! It's… it's… uh! You're free. You've got your head back so why should more innocent blood be shed? The real culprit is still out there!"

I stare at him intensely, hoping for the tiniest hint of change in his expression, something that would show he's actually listening.

But… nothing. There's nothing that would indicate any emotion at all. And it's sooo annoying. So. Freaking. Aggravating. It wakes something inside of me, a ribbon of brazenness, my raging stubbornness flaring up. How am I supposed to argue with someone that won't argue back?

"You know what? Fine. Bury your head in the sand. Pay no mind. Look the other way. See if I care. You're the one to lose, anyway. But just so you know, you're not the only one who lost something due to this."

Oh… interesting… Something fleeting across his expression.

Score for Linda.

"Entire families have been wiped out because of _you._"

At that, his head snaps up. He doesn't like that, I realize, doesn't like the casualness with which I put the blame on him. But even though I know he was not the one responsible for what happened, I like the fact that I hit a nerve there.

"I bet you won't believe me, but you cost me a friend, too."

At least that results in movement. He gets up, eyes shooting daggers and hands clenched into fists.

"Wie kannst du es wagen?"

My temper itches at his tone. "What? Is there a problem with me hanging the murders on you? Gee, I wonder what that feels like!"

He raises an eyebrow. "If you're trying to take the blame off your shoulders, you should know that it's not working."

I feverishly pace the room, trying to avert his icy stare. "You have to believe me!"

"Why?"

"Because! I'm telling the truth!"

"Well, in this case, you're free to go!" He yells it, teeth bared as he fails to get a handle on it.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe me?"

"I believe what I see. And what I saw last night, was you, alone in the house and heading directly towards the skull."

"I did not…" oh screw it! "I don't live alone there… And I… I swear I just… happened upon it."

There is a small pause "Enough."

I run a hand through my hair in indignation. "No! It's not enough! You have to hear this. I have no idea why the head was in the house but I had nothing to do with it! I'm just as baffled as you are. And the reason I was alone is that all the other residents are gone for the weekend. It's not… I'm not the one you're looking for!"

He raises a brow. "Fair enough. Then who is it?"

I come to a halt and automatically open my mouth to answer but all I can manage is an inarticulate sound as I soon realize that… I have no idea.

Damn I have no idea. The culprit was right next to me the whole time and I only know it now, when it might be too late.

The Horseman's disapproving snort snaps me out of my pondering. Shaking my head, I cut him off before he has a chance to dismiss my words. "I don't know. But does it really matter? If I was the one controlling you why would I set you after me?"

He takes a step closer. "I don't know… Perhaps your work was done… Maybe you wanted to mislead me. Es ist mir egal…"

I stare at him, biting my lower lip. He makes things so complicated that I cannot even grasp the edges of reasoning with him.

An icy sense of hopelessness branches out in my chest. My annoyance is crashed and all of a sudden there's a lump in my throat so big it hurts. What am I supposed to do? I feel like everything I might say won't even scratch the surface.

I clench my jaw, tell myself it's not over yet. "How can you be so blind?" My voice comes out little more than a whisper and part of me is ashamed of letting him see me break.

The look he gives me is a mixture of so may emotions that I instantly regret speaking. Anger, bitterness, grievance and a hint of uncertainty, all crammed in a swiveling glance.

Is he really that angry that he can't accept the simplest fact? I mean, I have a hunch he's not the kind of person to be patient and ask questions and… think straight at times like this. And I've heard the stories. About him being a cold-blooded killer and all. Riding and fighting and chopping off heads… But I guess what happened to him was terrible… no one deserves that. No one's worthy of having his soul bargained away and being played like that. I know _I _would be infuriated, too, and determined to take revenge.

But dammit, that is NOT sympathy I'm feeling. We're talking about my life here. He has no right to-

"What's your name?"

I flinch a look at him, mouth hanging open. Huh?

"Was ist passiert? Kannst du nicht sprechen jetzt?", he asks again in a whisper that might as well have been a growl.

What. The hell.

"I _can _speak", I stupidly burble after a few seconds of silence just to show him that I understand and then immediately blush at the ridiculousness of my statement.

"Gut", he states firmly, taking a few long strides towards me. I wince and look away, my pulse getting more intense as I hear the ringing sound of his spurs. As our distance between us lessens, so does my courage and I feel the reality of my position dawn on me menacingly.

The way he approaches me is most certainly feral. So what is this? Is he taking the chance to toy with me, now that my resolve has nearly crumbled? What is he going to do…?

Oh. Apparently nothing. He just stands there, a few inches away, towering me.

"Need I ask you again?"

Ask me what? Damn! My name.

I manage a croaky "Linda"

"Linda", he repeats slowly. The way it rolls out of his tongue is so alien that it sends unwelcome shivers down my spine.

I glance up at him, swallowing awkwardly. "And… yours?"

His expression hardens to stone. He doesn't answer. Just looks at me a moment longer, face unreadable, then turns around. Placing his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, he lowers his head and stays in that position for a few painful seconds.

Did I carry it too far? I mean, what the hell am I doing here? One moment we're arguing and the next we're introducing ourse-

"Erhard"

Wait. Hold up. Halt.

Was that a composed reaction?

I lean back against the wall, letting out a curt laugh of disbelief.

He gives me a look over his shoulder. "What?"

"Well I…", I cast a brief frown. "Would you believe me if I said I almost thought you didn't have a name?"

He turns around again, a dark brow arched in amused puzzlement. "How so?"

"I don't know… It's just… All this time everyone's been calling you 'Horseman', 'Hessian', 'demon'… I guess I had gotten used to these… appellations."

His low chuckle makes a new wave of shock crash my stomach. Okay, now I'm confused.

Not that I don't appreciate the slight change in his demeanor, though. Maybe I should even go with it.

I cross my arms. Unfold them when I realize it seems too defensive.

Or is that how I should act? Am I going for defensive?

"They all tell stories about you…"

He cocks his head to the side. "What stories?"

I try to keep my voice light, hoping he's not listening carefully enough to notice the light tremble. Hell, when did I go back to being an emotional mess?

"About your life… and death… They say you were a ruthless murderer. That you loved killing and-"

"I was a mercenary. A fighter. Not a slaughterer. There is a difference."

I shrug. "What I know is that everyone thought you came back from the dead because of your love of carnage."

"A love contained in the battlefield. A true soldier has honor. He does not end innocent lives. The men that were killed by my blade were there by choice."

He casts a fleeting look upon me and frowns. I think he's almost regretted saying so much.

"Do you miss that?", the words fleet my mouth before I give it a solid thought. The battles? The fighting? The killing?"

My question almost surprises him. I hide my hands behind my back nervously.

Maybe I shouldn't have pushed it. I'm lucky my head is still where it belongs, anyway.

I stretch an arm to my right and fumble blindly for the door handle, already prepared to disappear shamefully in the bedroom, but then he comes closer, pretty much caging me in.

The knot in my stomach tightens dangerously.

"You ask too many questions", he grunts.

He knows. He knows that my knees are shaking and I can sense he likes that.

Oh but there is no way he's going down that path with me. No freaking way he makes me feel intimidated solely by giving me that deviant icy look again.

"Do you?", I repeat lightly, forcing my eyes to remain glued on his.

"It was my job. What I knew how to do.", he spouts coldly. "And I did it with pleasure. Others were drowned by guilt. I watched men lose their selves. Not me. It was the presence of death near me that made me feel alive." He breathes out sharply. "Zufrieden?"

I nod shakily.

"Your turn. What is it with your clothes?"

That jolts me out of wherever I've been.

Uh-oh…

"…You wouldn't understand"

"I can try"

"Fine.", I take a deep breath and look to the side, trying to escape his gaze. He senses my discomfort and comes even closer just to make sure I feel as uneasy as possible.

"I'm not… from this place… or… time… and it's a really long and stupid story that has to do with spells and time… travel and…"

"You're not making sense", he hisses.

"I know"

…

"Look at me", he says demandingly.

Suddenly, his boots are extremely interesting.

"Linda…"

The sound of my name, combined with the warning iciness in his tone is enough to make me do as he says.

"Explain"

"What do you ca-"

"Explain!"

The aching look I flash him is not good enough. Alright. I ventured out of the bedroom to tell him the truth, so I might as well do it properly.

"I've time traveled. A spell brought me here from the year 2011. Which- to return to our previous subject - is more proof that I didn't summon you", I jabber without thinking, in hopes of avoiding the embarrassed blush.

God, that sounded downright _stupid. _

His eyes narrow and the voice that rumbles over me is edged with anger. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

"No… I don't know… Maybe… I mean, you rose from the grave as a headless ghost. If someone could believe me, that would be you!"

"This has gone too far"

I shrug, trying unsuccessfully to seem careless. "I told you, you wouldn't understand. It's the only explanation I can give you, though. And if you don't…", I throw disdainfully.

The familiar glare has returned on his face and I know that this time I've crossed the line. Like seriously crossed.

"…like it…"

Next thing I know, his hand is twisting my arm behind my back so firmly that a little cry of pain escapes my lips.

"What game are you trying to play here?"

I go through a few seconds of sheer panic which soon turns into a short-lived bafflement that is followed by aggravation and finally circle back to shock.

My efforts too release my arm from his powerful grip go out the window. "I'm telling the truth…!"

His eyes are glowing in anger. "Are you trying to lead me astray? Is that what this is?"

"No, I swear! Let go!", I cry out in dismay and he finally releases me.

If I wasn't pressed against the wall, I would have probably tripped over my feet.

He takes a step back, eyeing me with a mixed up expression I can't read. Oh but I know fury and frustration are there. There's something else as well, though, so subtle that I could easily dismiss it as wishful thinking. Confusion? Self-doubt?

Could it be?

Well, he doesn't give me a chance to find out. Before I have a chance to say another word, he's reached the mysterious door on the opposite wall. I watch him disappear behind it silently, leaving me alone once again, perfectly aware that whatever I say will only bring on an outburst of rage.

So what was that all about? We're right where we started, aren't we?

Aren't we?

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><p><em>Wie kannst du es wagen? = How dare you?<br>Es ist mir egal = I don't care  
>Was ist passiert? Kannst du nicht sprechen jetzt? = What happened? You can't speak now?<br>Zufrieden = Satisfied_

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to TheElegantFairie, Lady Avotil, bleach102, RAswimmer2012, noodle86, HessianLover99 and SideshowJazz1 for reviewing!**


	14. An Astounding Liar

_Best thing about tonight's that we're not fighting  
><em>Fall For You - Secondhand Serenade

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><p>Three days later and I'm huddled up in an armchair in front of the hearth, trying my hardest to concentrate on nothing but my efforts to keep my exposed body warm. My jacket might have been a helpful addition to my outfit, but it met its fate in the fireplace as soon as I took a bath and realized it was too dirty to wear again.<p>

Yes, a bath. Apparently I've managed to make myself feel like home. Talk about adaptive.

Whatever.

Three days and nothing has changed. Well, apart from the fact that I'm considerably more hungry.

I haven't spoken to Erhard. Not since our last wrangle. I technically haven't even seen him again. He's always gone at nights, doing God knows what up there in the living world, and I stay in the bedroom during the daytime, when he's here, sleeping or pretending to sleep, confident that he won't even bother to check on me. The only times we actually come across each other is when he comes back and I go to the bedroom without a word or if I get up and he's still here, ready to disappear. Not that anything happens in those brief moments. We just stay in the same room for three minutes max without saying a word. The only indication that something's not right and that we acknowledge each other's existence is the looks we sneak at each other every now and then. Poisonous stares. Fervent gazes. Drawn out peeks when the one thinks the other's not noticing.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Really Linda? Hiding? Is that the best you can do? Well, just so you know, it's not like Erhard's been doing any better. And honestly, I don't know why. I mean, maybe one could justify mε being scared out of my wits (though I think I'm way past that point), but him? Why won't he even stay in the same room with me? As much as I hate to admit it, he's got the upper hand. Ιf he hated me so much that he couldn't stand being around me, he wouldn't really have to deal with me. He wouldn't have to keep me around.. My life is in his hands and there's nothing I can do about it. As he has reassured me, he could just snap his fingers and I'd be history. But so much for his threats. He may refuse to believe me, but fortunately he hasn't laid a hand on me either. He's just settled for avoiding me.

And, in order to deal with all that, so have I.

Is it me? Is this taut situation my fault? Am I resentful because he keeps himself at a distance?

Probably. But he's just as bad! Whenever I try to talk to him he snaps! Or rather he used to. But at least I understood the snapping. I tried to explain, he didn't feel like he should believe me. I snapped. He snapped. Normal. So, what? What's with the uneasy truce between us? Is that what it is?

I straighten my back and tuck my feet beneath me on the seat. The sun will rise soon. Erhard will be back any moment now. I'd normally make sure to dodge our awkward encounter, but for some reason, today, that faint element of doubt and hope keeps me strapped on my seat, telling me lies_. Maybe something will be different this time… Maybe he'll look at you and realize it's all true…_

After our sorry attempt of a discussion, It seemed to me that that was it. There was nothing more I could do so why not just give up? But, despite the apparent rationality of my syllogism, I simply can't come to terms with it. I can't accept that I've got no options. Especially when I think that today Ichabod and the Van Tassels are coming home to find the place wrecked and me gone. Especially when I think that the culprit is one of them.

My mind's full of maybe's and what if's and wondering what would happen if I _did _talk to him again. I could ask him outright. If there's nothing I can do to make you change your mind, then why don't you get this over with? Why do you look at me the way you do but never say a word? Why do you let me flounce around, untroubled, as if this was my home?

But I can't. I won't. Because he'll sneer, thick skinned as always, and stubbornly tell me to shut up.

Won't he…?

Ugh, it's all so goddamned confusing!

The faint neigh of a horse nearly makes me jolt out of my seat. That's it. He's back again. He spends a few silent minutes with the Daredevil in the antechamber, as always, while I feel my face go from red to deathly pale several times, and then I hear his spurs ring a thousand times louder in my head with every heavy step he takes.

God, that sound always has the same panicking effect on me. It always makes me want to freeze up and hide and laugh hysterically, all at the same time. I just don't get it.

I plop down on my seat again, just so he doesn't see me in that state, and give myself a moment to try to calm down. No use really. I close my eyes and take in a long, shaky breath, but the knot in my stomach stubbornly refuses to work loose and I sit there, motionless and stiff.

The door opens with an abrupt, deafening squeak and I swear at myself for the speed with which my head turns towards it. Erhard halts at the sight of me, surprise slightly visible across his pale features. My eyes linger on his sturdy form, and for just a moment the only thought that gleams in my head is that he seems so, so unreal. So out of this world, whatever this world is. The only indication that he is not a hallucination is the flippant sway of his dark, fray cloak.

I avert my gaze rapidly, not sure how to handle all the emotions surging through me. I want to deaden them like I always did in order to cope, but every desperate effort crumbles as he approaches me and leans pertly against the fireplace, leaving me feeling that I might come apart any moment now.

For a sec, using the bedroom as a shelter once more, seems perfectly fine. And reasonable. I mean, it's not like I'd do anything new that would weird him out. It's not like he'd try to stop me. He never did. Just like he never wanted to believe me…

I make a move to get up, but the sudden, sharp look he shoots me totally immobilizes me.

"Are you leaving again?"

I stare for a few seconds, lost in a daze. Hoping that the fact that I'm not getting up is enough an answer for him.

But when did he make anything easy for me?

He narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, probably waiting for me to say something - I don't know what. Explain what we've been doing for the past three days…? Give him something to work with…?

I can't manage anything more intellectually complicated than a half-assed "No"

He lowers his head and glances at the fire. "So are you finished with avoiding me?"

I… What? After three days of rejecting my claims and spending the minimum amount of time near me he blames it all on me? _Again_?

No way I'm taking advice on up and leaving from the master of it himself.

I sit back and eye him earnestly. "I'm not avoiding you"

Yeah, immature. And completely untrue. I know. But if he doesn't feel like opening up and being honest then neither do I.

"Then what is this all about?"

"What what is all about?"

He glares. "This… silence. You haven't said a word in days"

As a response I pucker my lips and shrug indifferently.

"Fine", he huffs out, "You can either tell the truth or continue playing whatever game it is you think you're winning at."

Well, that just about did it.

I let out a strangled laugh. "Believe me, I'm not winning at anything"

His expression doesn't change. Yeah… Not good enough. Okay, maybe I'm pushing it. I mean, all stubbornness and anger aside, it's seems like he's making an effort… at something.

I rest my hands on my knees and rub them anxiously. "I don't… I thought… What do you want me to say? I thought you're still mad at me"

"I am."

I raise a brow at the shortness of his tone. "Then whatever I said wouldn't really make a difference now, would it?"

For a moment, Erhard does nothing but watch me, his gaze fixed like a mask over a thousand thoughts. And that's the moment I realize, that he's probably been thinking about all this a lot in the past three days.

The warm sense of anticipation I've been trying my hardest to numb spreads in my chest again. Is there a chance I might be able to change his mind? Is there a crack in his seemingly unshakable beliefs?

He breathes out sharply, his brows knitting in an expression I've come to know all too well. The one that means he's dismissing every possibility contrary to his opinion again. "…No"

Huh. Is it me or did that come out more like a 'maybe'?

"Then what?", I manage to make my voice sound almost kind of gruff. "Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because I do not like it when you think you can run away from me"

Right. That has to be the most depthless excuse he could give me. First, he doesn't want me to talk to him, now he doesn't want me to avoid him? What the hell am I supposed to do? Because begging and pleading for my life is so not an option. And if he thinks there's any chance of catching me off guard ever again…

…Although… Does that give me room for conversation?

I take a gulping breath. Tell myself that snapping back again is not a solution. That it is simple, really. Just form words, and no shouting, arguing, injuring, accussations of homicide or anything. Just a talk. Tell him how you need him to believe you. That's all. Easy.

My brain fumbles unsuccessfully for the right words. "You know… I can't really help pondering what if I … I mean you… you should… not that I can point out what you should do, but… y'know… it's been some time and… I don't… I don't get this… like _get it, _but_… _if just for once you… you gave it a chance and…and…well…"

I don't think that even began to make sense.

Oh God, I got my chance and I messed it up, didn't I.

"And believe you."

He understood? My stomach tumbles somewhere beneath my feet, lungs struggling to keep up with my heart rate.

I look up at his towering form. His icy eyes widen upon meeting mine in a disoriented expression, and I don't really need to say anything because everything I'm feeling must be written plainly across my face.

My heart hammers so painfully in my chest, that I think he can probably hear it.

I try to keep my voice light but it comes out croaky and thick. "You always shun me"

"Your claims…"

"I know", I cut him off, mildly perplexed by the fact that it didn't seem to aggravate him. "I know. Unbelievable. Outrageous. Crazy. But I swear it's all true, I mean… If I tried to mislead you, I'd think of something more plausible than time travel, right?" I stubbornly stare at his boots for a while, waiting for him to answer. But he never does. "And what bothers me is not so much the fact that you probably plan on killing me…" To my wonderment, he kind of twitches at the words "…but the horrors that have yet to come to the village. I don't know what's going to happen now that you're free, but if the culprit came to such an extent as to wake up the dead, they probably won't stop now…"

The vocalization of the thoughts that had been bothering me for days really gets to me. The whole idea of more people getting slaughtered is so repulsive, so fear-inducing, so… so awful.

I look away, struggling to keep myself together, the muscles tightening in my face as I force them to stay frozen. I try and find distraction, anything but his eyes, anything that's not him. The only person that hinders me. The only person I can count on. My teeth clench and my jaw tightens as I give up with pretending I'm composed about all this, and I just stare blankly at the stupid wall because I will not cry in front of him.

He's quiet for a very long time.

Then eventually, "So… the twenty-first century?"

Something inside of me just crumbles. What's that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do with that?

"Yeah, that's right…"

"And that would explain the bizarre attire."

"Told you so"

"How did this happen?"

"A time portal opened as a consequence to an ineffectual spell a few months ago."

"And you have been… mingling… with the townsfolk ever since…?"

He says it so carefully that for a moment I almost sympathize with his mistrust.

"Yes. Quite successfully"

The blanketing sense of security I managed to acquire dissolves as my gaze meets him again; A dark form that leans against the hearth and watches me. Quiet and dangerous, like the hunter he is.

It makes my head spin.

"So why were you alone in the house?"

"The rest of the residents had gone to New York for the weekend. One of them must be the culprit. The constable that was assigned to solve the murders is among them, as well." It takes me a few seconds to form the next sentence "They're returning today."

A faint sense of regret flickers through my stomach. Maybe he shouldn't know that. God know what he's doing when he's gone. Maybe he rides towards the village. Maybe he's been seen again… Maybe he…

No. I slough the thought off before it goes any further. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't kill again. Not like that. Not without reason. Not innocents.

Still, what if he decides to find out if I'm telling the truth and take care of the case himself?

I don't dare express my concerns. I just wait for him to say something, show me if everything I've said has gone to waste or not.

Eventually, he shakes his head slightly. "I cannot accept your allegations", he gruffly removes his gloves and throws them in the empty armchair. "Do you want the truth? A part of me thinks you are… eine Lügner… a liar. And an astounding one, for that matter." He takes off his boots as well, in the same brusque manner and I feel his words sting and set off a smothering feeling that hurts more than anything that has happened in the past few days.

Disappointment. It's freaking disappointment of all things.

He stops to glance at me. "But then I look at you", he continues in a tone that resembles a soft growl "…and you're miserable. And I… I cannot make sense of you. You confuse me."

I do? My skin prickles all over.

"There are a lot of reasons why I should not even be talking to you in this way." he starts to strip away his armor "Because when I do… I cannot help but think… what if I believed you?"

My ears ring. I stare at him wide-eyed, picking up on every detail of him, from his weird, messy hair to his toned chest that shows through the loose, black shirt he's halfway through unbuttoning.

"Are you going to say anything?"

Am I? I cannot put what I'm thinking into words. It's such a tangle of awe and hope that it knocks the breath out of me.

But he's still waiting and my hands start to tremble and I… I just… "So what… what does this mean?"

'"I don't know."

The way he says it sends a wave of fear chasing through me. Or is it something else? I can't tell anymore. Whatever it is, he's still looking at me, waiting for a reaction. Suddenly, I'm intensely aware of the tension radiationg off of him, feeling it mirrored in my own stomach. My eyes dart around the eerily lit room for an answer. It doesn't really help. Instead, I shift uncomfortably in my seat and my stomach chooses the worst possible moment to growl loudly.

That brings me back to reality with a bump. I suddenly remember that I haven't eaten anything in three days and wonder if Erhard let me like this on purpose. What? Is that his evil plan? Starve me to death?

He frowns slightly. "Are you hungry?"

Does that count as a no?

"Famished" My stomach growls again. "It's been three days"

He nods as if hit by an epiphany. Then, without a word he heads towards the bedroom.

"Where are you going…?", the words are out of my mouth before I know it.

He stops, turns on his heel and flashes me a baffled look. I think this is the first time I catch him off guard.

"To take a bath"

"Oh"

So that was it. That's all he had to say.

A part of me feels a little let down, like I'm almost sad we're not saying anything else, but I quickly shove that feeling away. Isn't that progress anyway? Maybe things are looking up. Maybe he just needs some time… And space… And although I ache for every minute that passes and I'm away from the Hollow, away from the people I could help in protecting in some way, this is more than I could hope for.

I silently watch him disappear behind the bedroom's door. A part of me ponders over going to bed, but I'm not that tired. Plus, I don't want it to seem like I'm following him or anything. So I just lie back, stretch my legs and let my gaze get lost in the flames as I switch off. My head swims in a moment of realization and I let the whole conversation play over and over again in my head for hours, never failing to make me feel kind of warm inside.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to MonstarzGirl, TheElegantFairie, bleach102, Lady Avotil, LilithMorte, noodle86, HessianLover99 and Silver Katsuyami for their lovely reviews! Once again, I'm sorry about the late update, but I feel like I've been through hell and back with my finals. Thank God they're over, and I got the chance to catch up with this story. :) **


	15. A Simple Gesture

_But I don't have time for your distorted esteem  
>Why are you toying with my mind?<br>I don't wanna hear you say it__  
>I don't wanna hear you say it<br>I don't wanna hear you say it  
>Now you're messing with my pride<em>

Say it - Blue October

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><p>Erhard doesn't stay long. Once the sun is down, he is ready to up and leave again.<p>

It's only then that I allow myself to relax and simmer down. Maybe it has to do with the unconscious effort to adjust my sleeping schedule with the time he stays here.

Well, maybe it's not _that _unconscious.

Anyway, once he and Daredevil are gone, I feel an erratic feebleness engulf me. Perhaps, it's due to the lack of food, I don't know. But hungry or not, I don't even make it to the bedroom. As soon as I slump into the armchair my eyelids feel as heavy as rocks and it's not long before I sink into a dark slumber.

But it's not a peaceful one. Mainly because, at some point, I dream about the Witch of the Western Woods.

I sit with her in the cave again, only my hands are tied behind my back on the chair. A sense of jitters floods me and I frantically squirm in my seat. I know this is a dream, I know it, but I just can't snap out of it. She quietly watches me in the dim light under her thick veil until I cease my efforts.

"Let go of me!", I shout, making my voice as firm as possible.

She doesn't seem concerned in the least. "I'm not the one that restrains you"

Somehow, I just know she is talking about Erhard.

"What do you want?"

"I told you there was no time" Her flustering rants from our last encounter flash through my head and I feel chills run down my spine. "You should have believed me"

"I did not understand", I protest bitterly.

"You did not listen", she puts back, in a matter of fact tone.

"What do you want from me?", I repeat gruffly, switching to defensive mode.

"More blood will be shed. He's free, but there is no stopping"

I shake my head, wishing my hands were free so I could hide the tears that start to well up in my eyes. So it's true. The murders won't stop. "What can I do? I'm trapped!"

"Then flee"

"How?", I shout it and my voice echoes through the walls.

"The crimson-eyed snake is the way in. The crimson-eyed snake is the way out. The crimson-eyed snake is the way in. The crimson-eyed snake is the way out"

She repeats the same phrases over and over, louder and louder, until her voice becomes deafening. The walls start rotating and my surroundings blur into the darkness until there's only me and her. The hilt of the Hessian's sword with its red-eyed sculpted snake flickers before my eyes, the image twisting my stomach into knots. Then, the crone's form starts growing bigger and bigger until she's towering over me.

_The crimson-eyed snake is the way in. The crimson-eyed snake is the way out. _

Oh man, I need to get out of here.

_The crimson-eyed snake is the way in. The crimson-eyed snake is the way out. _

Come on, come on…

_The crimson-eyed snake… _

Son of a-

I rip out of the dream and back to reality. For a few seconds I stare at the wall wide-eyed, afraid that if I close my eyes again the nightmare will be back.

Although… I'm not really sure that was a simple nightmare. I don't even know if it was my own dream.

A pang of resentment laced with the sickening feeling of being violated cuts through me as I realize that the crone invaded my dreams. That she knows where I am. But most importantly, that she was right all along.

_The crimson-eyed snake is the way in. The crimson-eyed snake is the way out._

God, I wish I knew what that meant. Is that her idea of helping me? Couldn't she be more precise?

Feeling my legs get sore due to my uncomfortable position I try to stretch them in order to get up.

And that's the moment I realize that I'm covered with… Erhard's cloak?

In the blink of an eye, the memory of the nightmare fades away. For several moments I sit still, wrapped in the cloak, feeling a heady jolt kick hard through my stomach, warming every nerve. I clutch it tightly in my fist, a massive, lip biting grin spreading across my face.

He did this? He covered me?

My head swims in a sudden moment of realization and I abruptly throw it off of me, scared stiff of the feeling it ignites. It seems utterly stupid and utterly staggering all at once.

I sigh and quickly pick up the cloak again, feeling guilty of throwing it away like this. After all, he meant well and just did this to… to…

_Why _did he do this exactly?

However small the gesture might be, it is not like him to be so… thoughtful and caring. Especially to someone he, well, hates. Huh. Because he hates me, right? I mean, he didn't exactly say so, but…

Memories of our past encounters rear their ugly heads. The night of Johanna's murder. Our chase in the Van Tassel estate. His furious blowup in the bedroom, when it seemed like he was seconds away from lunging at me.

Damn it, that's the stuff I'm not good at. The stuff I don't understand. I'm not the type to catch on to those little gestures… but then neither is he… is he? And why would he be around me, anyway?

I thinks this definitely falls under the 'mixed signals' category.

I neatly fold the cloak and sit back, unable to figure it out. Bringing it close to me, I take a deep breath in order to calm down. Instead, its scent, which smells deliciously like him, envelops me, making me feel lightheaded and sending a tinge of color prickling through my skin.

I should go check how he's doing… even say thanks maybe?

Another twinge of embarrassment shots through me at the thought and I try to stifle it by telling myself that I only want to do this for diplomatic purposes. No feelings involved whatsoever. It's all about building trust, right? Well, at least trying to…

But then again, if I don't really care about this, why do I suddenly feel my legs turn into jelly and a thousand excuses as to why I should just sit where I am accumulate in my head? I stay still as a mouse for while, speculating the idea of expressing gratitude for something so trivial when I'm practically a prisoner and finally deciding on acting smug and careless and staying put.

Then, without a warning, I grab the cloak in one hand, propel myself away from the armchair and make for the bedroom's door. My resolve lasts all of about ten seconds before it crumbles and I hesitate, then stop altogether. I start to convince myself that this won't make a bit of a difference for our messed up situation and that actually talking to him later, or rather, not talking to him at all is a far more likeable option.

I turn around; head towards the table instead. Let's see it rationally. He might not be in the bedroom… He might not even be here… And even if he is, chances are that he is sleeping. Do the undead sleep? It's been four days, you'd think I should know that. Maybe I should ask him at some point. It would make for an adequate conversation starter. Not that I'm interesting in making small talk with him or anything but…

I stumble to a halt again. This is too far-out, even by my standards.

Seriously? I can't understand why I'm making such a fuss out of something so… simple.

Resenting every inch of the coward I am, I head back towards the bedroom again, thankful that no one is here to see my weird stuttering little stop-start dance.

I lightly open the door a crack, so that I can only just make it inside and silently close it behind me. I take a couple of cautious steps, my eyes scanning the small room and then stop completely dead, so suddenly that it must look like I've crashed into an invisible wall.

Erhard is lying supinely on the bed, his eyes closed tightly.

…Aand he's only wearing his black trousers. My mind dillydallies a little on that part.

Every fine hair on the back of my neck stands up. Most of me wants to bolt out again. But while my apparently skittish brain tells me this is a fantastic idea, the rest of me seems to have other thoughts and I'm already getting closer, my eyes trailing from his long legs to his broad chest and finally his pale face that seems oddly peaceful.

An intangible force causes me to sit timidly on the bed next to him. He seems so placid, so tranquil, so… serene that if it weren't for the light movement of his chest as he breathes, I would think he truly _is _dead. My heart flutters with fear at the thought. Whatever his intentions are, I'd rather know he's here, with me than be left all by myself in this underground prison.

I reach out and gently touch his cheek. A faint smile, one that doesn't quite reach my eyes, tugs the edges of my lips. I never thought I'd want to be close to him. I never thought his presence would make me feel secure.

My hand lightly fondles the side of his face, then slowly moves downwards and finally stops at his chest. I don't understand what I'm starting to feel, yet I know my initial dread and resentment are a far cry from it. Is there good in him? Is there more than his icy exterior? Should I even let these feelings I'm too scared to acknowledge churn within my stomach? Shouldn't I be hating him for being so arrogant and stubborn?

Well, even if I should, I can't. I'm annoyed, yes, exasperated even, but part of me understands his scruples.

I bite my lower lip and straighten my back, my hand still on his chest. I'm stepping into dangerous territory here. Regardless of what I think of him, there are things that need to be done and the only thing that should matter is finding a way to escape.

I look down and notice that the rest of his clothes have been thrown unceremoniously into a pile next to the bed. Deciding on not waking him up, I crouch down in order to place the cloak on top of it. And that's when I see it. Protruding from the stack is the hilt of his sword with it's sculpted snake. Two ruby eyes stare into my soul, making the blood in my veins curdle.

_The crimson-eyed snake is the way in… The crimson-eyed snake is the way out. _

That's it. My chance. My means of escape. I don't know _how _it is going to lead me out of here, but first I need to get hold of it, anyway. I make a move for it, then hesitate.

Erhard will be mad; furious. Whatever trust and amity has been built between us will crumble in a heartbeat. He'll surely disregard everything I've said and go back to believing I'm his witch…

I shove the thought away. So what? I've tried to convince him to let me go several times, didn't I? It never worked. The people I've grown to know and love are in danger and every minute that goes by while I'm trapped here is to the killer's benefit. What matters now is their safety. And I want to ensure that, even if it leads to my demise by Erhard's own hand. Besides, neither of us belongs here. Each to his own. He's an obstacle I have to overcome, right? I'm alive. He's dead. Or rather, he should be.

And damn it, this fact shouldn't hurt me the way it does.

I close my eyes for a second. Gather my courage and…

Holy shit! I suddenly feel a hand clasp my wrist and abruptly drag me back up. It all happens so unexpectedly that I almost choke on my own breath. I try to pull away by instinct, but then the grip on my arm hardens, causing me to land face first on the toned chest I'd spent the last few minutes admiring. Pushing against the mattress with my free hand, I look up and meet Erhard's ever-chilling gaze.

Alright. I think it's safe to say that I'm officially busted.

Also, I'm very much on top of him.

A kick of emotions rocks through me. For several moments I just stand there staring at him in shock, my mind so occupied with building nightmarish scenarios about what he might have seen that I don't even bother with wriggling out of his hold.

Until I realize, he says nothing, either. He simply stares back.

An almost rational part of my brain reminds me to breathe. "My hand…", I say, voice as small as possible.

He doesn't let go of me. "What are you doing?"

What am I doing? Huh. Nothing much, hon. Just trying to steal your sword and break away. No biggie.

The panic that is still pumping into me doesn't allow me to think up a satisfying reply. Instead, I take the easy route out. "I thought you were asleep"

"I don't sleep", the words come out cold and hard.

"Oh" Well at least I got my answer about that… Even though right now it feels like a slap across the face.

So not only has he seen me move suspiciously close to his stuff, but he was fully aware of me stroking his face, too. Excellent. I thought this situation could not get more awkward, but apparently I was wrong.

…Although… If he knew I was here, why didn't he say anything?

My face flushes in embarrassment, heart thudding violently as I feel every inch of his hard body pressed against my own. That's a little too close to allow rational thinking.

"Linda?", he growls and I have a feeling this is not the first time he says my name.

I swallow awkwardly, unable to stop staring. "Yeah…?"

"I asked you a question"

Part of me ponders over buying time by asking what the question was again, but I reluctantly reject the idea. The faster I get out of this awkward situation, the better.

Although… He feels so warm and solid and…

Woah! I did not just think that. Focus, dammit! Where did that come from?

I fumble inside my brain for an answer. What was it that I came here to do again?

Oh. Right. His cape.

I try and shift my weight to my knees. He stiffens, the grip on my wrist tightening. For a moment I think that's it, game over. But he makes no effort to stop my free hand from moving and so I reach the floor and pick it up. But that requires me to hover closer. Dangerously so.

"Your cloak", I burble out nervously. "I… came to give it to you"

He arches a brow. "You don't want it?"

My stomach flips at his almost gentle tone. "I… I'm fine"

His eyes narrow and for several moment he doesn't move or speak. As for me, I cannot but watch him breathe, feel the tension in his muscles beneath me, see his shoulders rise and fall. Then his jaw tightens and the sudden shimmer that saturates his eyes is enough to send heat chasing all the way down my spine.

But almost as soon as it appears, it's gone. Quivering like a dimming flame. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then that's gone too, and I see it happening. The way his face closes up. The shutters that go down. They always go down.

He nods, then drops my hand. "Alright"

I don't wait for him to say anything else. As soon as I'm out of his hold, I clamber out of the bed, hand him the cloak and scuttle out of the room, my relief over not getting caught muddled by confusion and a tinge of elation I know should not be there.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to TheElegantFairie, bleach102, Lady Avotil, RAswimmer2012, Guest, noodle86, LilacNightmare, . , HessianLover99 and watergoddesskasey for their amazing reviews! :D**


	16. Nightly Walks

_Let's rearrange  
>I wish you were a stranger I could disengage<br>Just say that we agree and then never change  
>Soften a bit until we all just get along<em>

Over My Head - The Fray

* * *

><p>Scramming out of the bedroom, I try to distance myself from what just happened; refuse to linger. I don't let my brain think of anything but moving forwards, because putting one foot in front of the other is what's going to get me through this. It's how I've been undergoing this from the start, anyway. It shouldn't be this hard anymore.<p>

So I stride out, past the wooden table, the fireplace and the armchairs I feel like I've spent half my life catnapping in, until… the antechamber. Freezing air and tenebrous light and I slam the heavy double door shut behind me because both things I can deal with. It's the mess in my head that overwhelms me.

God, but what I did and said in there did not even start to resemble a 'thank you'.

I slide down the craggy walls till I'm sitting down. Snapping my head back, I squint so that my vision can adjust to the shades and after a few seconds my eyes make out a husky figure.

Daredevil. Standing motionless in the shadows. I think he's even staring at me. Whatever. I try to ignore the horse's presence, focusing on the crusty soil instead. He only makes me think of Erhard, when God knows I came here to be as far away from his as possible.

I hide my face in my palms. Fine. There's no point in denying it. I wasn't scared of Erhard catching me. I mean, I was to some extent, but I've dealt with worse than that. What terrifies me is the sense that flooded me so haphazardly. The helplessness that overtook me when he was close. And he was so very close. Holding me…

Damn it. Am I starting to feel attached to him? Is that what this is? God help me, even saying it sends chills down my spine. That's how wrong it feels. You know what I heard once? When you get used to the monster, you start to resemble it.

…Although calling Erhard a monster feels even worse. I'd be lying to myself if I said I believed that. I think I used to, back when I knew him as the headless ghost that chopped off heads right and left. But now… Ugh. I don't know. But I certainly don't feel like running for my life when he's around. Because he's no evil fiend. He's a man. A particularly stubborn and short-tempered one, but a man nonetheless. A man that has been wronged. A man that seeks to restore justice in the only way he knows.

And then there's the way he treats me. That other side of him that I don't know if I should put my trust on. He claims he doesn't believe me, and yet, he has never tried to do me any harm. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I want him to! It's just… I wish I knew what he was thinking, that's all. Because he's so freaking unreadable! I never know what to anticipate. When I expect anger, he's nice. When I expect him to be okay… well…

You know which part bugs me the most? Well, except for the fact that I'm practically imprisoned… He rides away every night as if to avoid me. As if there's something to be afraid of. What is this that the notorious mercenary, who braved wars and drew satisfaction out of death, cannot deal with here? Is he really that torn by doubt? Is that what it is? Is conviction what draws him back?

Honestly, I feel like everything's gotten more complicated than it was a few days ago. Because I don't hate him. Not anymore. Although I wish I did. Because if I didn't feel for him, if part of me didn't think that he was more than a bloodthirsty madman, I wouldn't think twice about obtaining his sword and getting away. Now, contemplating doing that makes me feel hollow inside. Like I'm betraying something. Which is ridiculous. There's nothing to betray. But still…

I wearily get up again. Yeah… Great job on not thinking about him. Sigh.

Taking a few cautious steps I approach Daredevil, trying not to look at him directly in the eyes. I've heard dogs don't like that. I'm not quite sure about undead steeds, though. Slowly reaching out, I make a move to stroke his ebony coat. But he won't have it. Before I get the chance to touch him, he snorts and shakes his bulky head, his strong leg pawing the earth in displeasure.

"Surprise, surprise…", I mumble with a smirk "Unapproachable. Just like his master"

I lower my hand and take a step back. A curtain of pale light showers me and I blearily look up. A gap in the tangle of roots above my head, no bigger than a rabbit hole, allows a few bleached rays of light to enter the tree and gives me a deeply appreciated view of the ashen sky. I think it is early evening. I'm not quite sure, though. The sky in Sleepy Hollow is always cloudy anyway.

Well, hazy or not, the view causes my breath to catch in my throat. I miss being outdoors, I realize. I miss the fresh, crispy air and the rainy scents of winter. Yeah maybe that came out more melodramatic than intended. But, man, right now my stay here doesn't feel like four days. More like four months…

Suddenly, the door opens with a squeak that almost makes me jolt out of my skin. Erhard steps out, into the cold murkiness and looks me over.

I swear, even in the dark, I can make out the color of his eyes.

"What are you doing here?", he says, though his tone is considerably milder than the one he used in the bedroom. _The bedroom_… Even the memory of being so close to him makes my skin prickle with color.

Ugh.

As a reply, I simply shrug.

For a moment, he studies me and I feel almost naked under his gaze. I wonder if he's going to say something damning, think that I was trying to break away or something, but he doesn't seem pissed off, not like he usually does.

"Come inside", He doesn't do it on purpose, but it comes out like a command.

A trooper, right? I guess some things never change.

I think he senses my irritation because he's quick to add "I have something for you"

Huh?

I slowly step out of my illuminated spot and head towards him, completely thrown off. Just before getting back inside, I sneak a look back at the aperture in the roots as if it was some kind of bond of mine with the outer world and let out a light sigh. I don't know if Erhard notices that, but he does not acknowledge it. Instead, he leads me towards the table.

Good God! In my disarray, I hadn't noticed what was lying on it. A wooden plate filled with apples, pears, clementines and oranges and a flask of water. I stare at them wide-eyed for a while, then turn and look at Erhard in distrust.

Despite my effort to look daunting, he seems slightly amused. "Sit"

Even though my stomach finds plopping down on the chair and possibly devouring the contents of the table an excellent idea, my knees lock and I stare at the seat as if it might grow teeth and eat me any moment.

I try to resist the temptation to stupidly ask if that is actually for me to eat, but he refuses to say anything and my curiosity gets the best of me. "Why…?"

He strolls towards the armchairs and sinks into one. I have a hunch that he does that to give me space. Which is so not like him.

"Four days is a long time to go without food." is the only explanation he gives, swiftly dodging the very essence of my query.

Tell me about it. My mouth waters at the sight of pears for God's sake!

I'm not letting him get away with it so easily, though.

"Woah" I force my knees to buckle and sit down. "Are you trying to be… nice?"

"Are you trying to be smart?", he yaps back.

Yes. "…No"

I pick up one of the apples and take a bold bite, instantly grimacing at its sour taste. "Yikes… they are too unripe"

He turns to glare at me again. "I had to go near your damned town to bring you these. You _are _eating them"

I muffle a snort. "You bet I am. One more day and I'd start chewing on the table", I assure him, mouth already filled with another chomp.

A frown cuts through his features. He nods, then turns away.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear I saw the fleeting glimpse of guilt in his eyes.

Well, it surely passes through mine.

I place the core of my eaten apple down and take a swig of water. But even though I'm thirsty, I can't bring myself to drink more, not before I get rid of that lump in my throat. And I only know one way to achieve that.

"I… Well, thanks…", I mumble quite uncomfortably as the words nearly refuse to roll out of my tongue. "…for the food"

He just nods in return, unknowingly irritating me. Hey, I'm making an effort here! Doesn't that count?

I tap my hand on the wooden surface and try to swallow my pride, try to omit the fact that he is the reason I was starving, anyway. "I mean, you actually bothered to bring me all this, even though I never asked and that means a lot to me", Well if I'm going to grovel, I might as well do it properly. "Plus, you risked being seen…"

"If somebody in the village had seen me, the one in trouble would not have been me"

I nearly choke on my bite, both in anger at his unwillingness to acknowledge my gratitude and in shock at his macabre suggestion.

"That's not…", oh, it's hopeless. I roll my eyes. "Well, that I'm sure of", I grumble and focus back on my food. Is there any way in the world I can engage in a conversation with him without either one of us getting irked up?

He glances at me and I take the chance to shoot him a haughty look. Instead of glaring back like I expected him to, his lips twist into a wicked smirk, swiftly erasing my look of insolence and having me try to suppress a weird fluttering in my stomach.

I bite my lip, blush furiously, then look away.

I eat the rest of my meal in uncomfortable silence. Although I don't look anywhere but at my plate, I can feel Erhard's eyes eagerly fixed on me. He does nothing else except for gazing at me, though. At least not until I'm finished.

I am in the process of emptying the content of the flask when I see him move with the corner of my eye. Placing it down, I watch as he gets up and approaches the table, unmindfully sitting across of me.

I sit back on my seat, drawing away from the table as much as I can. God, I hate him for that. Not sitting opposite me, but doing it so casually. How dare he be so unconcerned around me when I cannot but act like a fidgety mess?

Telling myself that I'm not making sense, I risk a look upwards, and my skin tingles all over when I realize he's looking at me again. Which is stupid really, I mean, why wouldn't he be looking at me? I'm sitting opposite him. He'd have to be staring at the table top to be looking somewhere else. Like I am.

Oh, but I cannot help it. His crystal blue eyes pierce through my stomach. They always have the same effect on me. Always the same mix of elation and premonition and that tinge of fear. They always make me feel vulnerable, no matter how hard I try not to be intimidated.

"What's wrong?", he asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.

"Nothing". It comes out too hastily. Kind of squeakily as well. Not exactly good for convincing.

"Are you scared?"

I shake my head. "Nope. No." Again, far too quickly.

The triumphant smirk returns on his face. "Good."

Good? _Good? _After going out of his way to terrify me? What the hell?

"How was the food?"

I arch a brow suspiciously, then fold my arms. "It was great", I reassure him, slightly wincing at the memory of the sour apples.

"You are lying", he growls, a bemusing glint flooding his eyes.

I can't help but give him an honest smile. "Whatever. I'm stuffed."

For several seconds he stays silent, that ghost of a smile never leaving his face. I busy myself with scraping my hair back into a spunky ponytail, just to avoid staring.

Once I'm done, I notice that his eyes are still on me. Intense. "The sun has already set"

Something within my chest clenches so fiercely, it's almost painful. Is he leaving again?

I swallow. "So…?"

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

My heart jadders to a stop. "As in… _outside?"_

He frowns slightly. "Are you tired?"

No, I'm stupefied!

"No… Νο, I've been sleeping all day long", I quickly burble out, afraid that he might change his mind.

His eyes narrow. "So are you coming?"

I study him for a moment, then give him a cautious dip of my head. "Y-Yes"

"Alright" He gets up, and when he exhales, he sounds almost relieved, although what he's got to be nervous about, I don't know.

Is this real?

I warily follow him to the antechamber. To my further surprise, he saddles Daredevil. Once he's done he motions for me to come closer.

I have a feeling I'm staring at him in open-mouthed shock. It can't be attractive.

I force my feet to move and shuffle in front of him.

"Have you ridden a horse before?", he asks, obviously enjoying my bewilderment and having the upper hand.

"Not while being conscious", I bite back, pointing at the night he carried me off.

He probably gets the hint, because the look on his face is one of slight disfavor. Reveling in the fact that I hit a nerve, I loftily extend my right hand for him to take and help me up the horse, a taunting smile curling the edges of my lips.

Instead of doing that, he forcefully drags me in his hold by the wrist. The breath catches in my throat, smile vanishing from my face as I am pressed lightly against his armored chest. He gives me a twist of a terrifying smile and I swallow nervously, knowing I should step back, but feeling thankful he wouldn't let me even if I tried. His gloved hands trail down my back slowly before snaking around my waist. He effortlessly lifts me up and helps me get seated on the saddle.

Am I still breathing?

Grateful I'm wearing jeans, I swing a leg over the saddle and adjust to my position as Erhard gets on behind me. He brings his right hand in front of me and gets hold of the reins, while his left one fumbles for something at his side. Glancing down discreetly, I watch as he finds the hilt of his sword and presses the snake's eyes.

Woah… So, that's how it works. You press the jewels and-

Crap!

I cringe inwardly as a thunder causes the ground to shake. The roots of the tree crackle and whish as they spread open, swaying like ribbons in the wild air. I lose my balance and collide with Erhard's chest as he spurs the horse forwards with a bloodcurdling 'YAH!' Daredevil leaps up through the now open portal and I welcome the rush of cold air that hits me in the face.

Once we're out, Daredevil picks up speed. I gaze at the dead trees around me that stand tall in the unforgiving darkness and even though under normal circumstances they would have me weeping in fear, now I'm… glad I see them. Yeah. Kind of excited, too. What could possibly happen? What I used to be afraid of is sitting right behind me, one hand holding onto the reins as the other is wrapped around my stomach, keeping me firmly in place. And I like that, I realize. I like the way I'm caught into his warm embrace as the world races by me in a blur. The world I wasn't sure I'd get to see again a few days ago.

I don't ask where we're going. Part of me is enthralled by the idea of it being a surprise. The other part is just too scared… Don't want to ask him in case I'm making that up. Can't trust what's going on in my head these days. But real or not, we're heading towards the Hollow, I can tell that much.

We don't get too close to the town, of course. Halfway there, Erhard tugs Daredevil's reins and we come to a halt. He gets off the sizeable steed first and I wait impatiently for him to help me down. Reaching up to my waist he lifts me off the saddle and eases me down on the crunchy ground. My feet land with a graceless, uncoordinated thump, and I hang onto his amr, trying not to lose my balance. The scene reminds me a lot of the time I followed him outside Johanna's house and I can't help but pull away anxiously. That scared me. He knows it.

I glance back, almost expecting to see dim lights and smoke emerging from the chimneys of the village, but there's nothing but a thick continuance of bare trunks. Even though I know we're still too far I can't stop the pang of disappointment that cuts through me. Not that Erhard could possibly let me run back to the town, but I would like to see it, even from far away. Just to make sure that everything's fine, that this is just another quiet winter night for the townsfolk.

Erhard starts strolling slowly, drawing Daredevil from his reins. I walk silently beside him, crossing my arms in order to fight the urge to slip my hand into his. Probably thinking that I'm cold, he takes off his cloak and wraps it around my shoulders. I look at him in puzzlement and utter a meek 'thank you', but he does not respond. Well… Erhard doing something small but courteous and then going back to his blank stubborness. Now that's a shocker.

We finally reach a vaguely familiar clearing. I sit down on a bulky, flat rock and lean forwards, resting my chin on my hands and letting the cloak hang loosely around my shoulders. Erhard lets go of Daredevil and leans against a nearby tree, staring emptily at the darkness ahead of him.

"I didn't expect you to take me up", I tell him, trying to sound casual to break the ice.

"You are alive and in need of fresh air. You might say that you do not feel tired but you looked… weak", he says with a shrug.

A teasing spark flickers through my eyes. "Aren't you scared that I might run away?"

He turns to look at me briefly, his eyes narrowed. "You won't", he replies confidently.

That vexes me. "Why won't I?"

"Because you're smarter that that. " He says pointedly and I know he's right. Even if I managed to fool him and get away, it wouldn't be long before he caught me again. No. Something like this could not work at night.

We fall back in silence once more and although it seems good enough for him, I can't help it, I want more. Just for tonight, I decide, I don't want the current circumstances to cut through whatever effort we make at actually speaking like civilized adults. No murders, no witches, no accusations, no need for revenge… Just the two of us, sitting in the woods, talking about the unimportant stuff. Is it wrong for me to want that? To want the notorious Hessian close to me?

"So… Why did you come here?", I buzz him, shifting on my seat. "To America. Why did you leave Germany?"

He raises a brow. For a moment, it seems like his guard goes up and he's ready to shut me out again, but then his expression softens slightly. "Because there was nothing to hold me back. Fighting was what I loved to do. Facing a war came naturally, even if it was not a war fought for my country. Being a commander was what I was best at."

So, a commander. Well, looking at him with his elaborate armor and sturdy steed I wouldn't expect him to have been a lowly soldier.

"Didn't you have a family?"

He lets out a low chuckle. "A family? I never thought that that was necessary. Not for the way I lived", he says, confirming my thoughts. I was sure he used to be a loner. Couldn't possibly imagine his as a family man. It sounds almost ridiculous.

"What?", he asks, looking at me and I realize in embarrassment that I'm still looking at him quizzically.

"Nothing…"

"I can see you thinking."

I shrug, fishing around for something sensible to say. "Have you… regretted this?"

"Not having a family?"

"Oh, no. No. Coming here. What with the way things turned out and all…"

"I have not decided yet."

"What do you mean?", I insist, prying for details.

Surprisingly, he doesn't snap. He doesn't even sigh in exasperation. He simply pushes himself away from the tree and comes to sit next to me.

"I died in the battlefield and if that had been the end, it would have been good enough for me" His voice is husky. So close. "I do not wish for heaven, neither do I fear hell, but this… this life within death is… maddening."

I bite my lower lip, a wave of sadness flooding me. "I'm sorry"

He shifts to his left so that he faces me. "What for?"

Christ, I don't know!

"I guess that's intolerable. I mean, I don't think you dese-"

"Don't"

His voice cuts through me, sharp like a knife. "Don't what?"

"Don't act like that means something to you"

I fix my eyes on him "And you don't act like you can tell how I feel", I put back brassily. Part of me wants to tell him that I actually _do _care about him, but I think better of it. He will probably think that I pity him and being the egotist he is, it will all come down to another argument.

Afraid that he might be able to tell how flustered being close to him is starting to make me feel, I get on my feet. Daredevil trots slowly in front of me in search for food, and I try to take advantage of the chance to touch him. Again, he notices my intentions and doesn't try to hide his displeasure.

"You horse doesn't like me", I inform Erhard in a lighter tone, hoping to ease the tension between us.

He noiselessly gets up and comes to stand behind me. He's so close that I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.

"He doesn't know you very well. He simply doesn't trust you"

I slowly turn around to meet his gaze. "Neither do you"

Instead of confirming or denying it, he raises a hand and cups my cheek, his mystic eyes momentarily drifting down from mine to glance at my lips. I close my eyes and lean in to his touch, allowing myself to savour his warmth. But I can't do that. Even though I want to, I realize that the weight of what I have to do is too heavy on my chest to ignore. It itches. Always there at the back of my mind.

Once again, he has me wishing I understood what he's thinking. Why is he so gentle and yet so unapproachable? Does he believe me? And if not, why is he standing here with me, caressing my cheek while I'm wrapped in his cape?

I open my eyes. Maybe I have to try again, I don't know. I'm not even sure what to tell him, but I feel that I have to ask him once more…

"Erhard I…", I shakily mumble, but he moves his hand under my chin, his thumb pressing lightly against my lips.

Almost as though he could read my thoughts, he replies. "Give me some time."

My eyes widen, and for several moments I stand in silence, the only sound being the whoosh of the dead leaves in the winter breeze. So he is seriously thinking about this. The realization twists something so sharp in my chest, that for a moment I can hardly breathe. Too painful to be joy, yet every part of me is tipsy with it.

"Alright", I finally stammer with a quick nod. Even though I'm not really keen on wasting more time, I can do that. I think.

His hand trails down my neck, sending a surge of desire through me, before falling back to his side.

"The sun will rise soon", he says, involuntarily stepping back. "We must go"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to Lady Avotil, bleach102, watergoddesskasey, noodle86, HessianLover99, TheElegantFairie, xXSakura-Hime-SamaXx, Moonlight24 and LilacNightmare for reviewing! (:**


	17. Three Days Of Grace

_Close enough to start a war_  
><em>All that I have is on the floor<br>God only knows what we're fighting for  
>All that I say, you always say more <em>

Turning Tables - Adele

* * *

><p>Days take longer to stagger by when you're continually watching the lingering shadows of each hour pass. One of the universal truths, I'm afraid. Everyone who says time is steadfast, is a shameless liar.<p>

I feel a sigh sink its weight through me as I gaze at the thick tangle of roots above my head, trying to hang onto the positive side like I've been struggling to do for a while now. At least those three days have been way better than the previous ones. Erhard has been kind enough to grant me the canopy bed, though his enticing smell, which is spread all over the sheets rarely allows me to sleep, I get more food than I can actually consume and I am currently sunk in the bathtub, feeling my body loosen up in the humid hotness.

…Yeah. I'm still here. Even though I don't like that.

Ugh. Okay, that's not entirely true. More like, I don't like being restricted here while a serial killer is out there, near the closest thing I have to a family. Because, that minor detail apart, strangely enough, the thought of forgetting about Erhard and never seeing him again is becoming somewhat terrifying.

Then again, so are the scenarios I've been making up about what might be happening in the Hollow. For a while I thought that if I just flowed with it, if I could just accept Erhard's generosity and the shift in his demeanor for the gift it was, I'd be able to simmer down and wait. I felt like I was given an opportunity. A scanty window in the blank wall of his stubbornness. I thought that if I pressed myself hard enough, I'd eventually make him see what I wanted him to see.

But now, three days later, I don't think there is much progress. Maybe we've even taken a few steps back. He rarely seems like he wants to talk with me, and when he does, he says nothing on the matter. He always seems stiff. Constrained. Careful. And while I appreciate and savor those little moments with him, it enrages me that he doesn't seem to understand my burden. It makes me wonder what possessed me to promise him I'd give him more time to think it through. Seriously? It wasn't like either of us was thinking clearly at the time. He looked like he'd rather be a hundred miles away and I was an emotional mess.

I slowly scramble out of the bathtub and wrap a towel around my torso, taking a moment to enjoy its warmth against my prickling skin. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I feel slightly thrown off. It's me, alright, same as always and yet… not really. There's a certain weariness in my eyes, one that doesn't really have to do with my physical condition and it's only when I stare at my reflection for a while that I realize that I'm unconsciously frowning.

I force the muscles in my face to relax, leave the chamber and nearly jolt out of my skin as I enter the bedroom. Much to my surprise and embarrassment, Erhard is standing by the bed, adjusting his leather armor. My mortification dims a little as part of me grimly points out that he probably doesn't intend to stay long.

My smoldering anger starts to flare up. But despite my seething feelings, I close the door lightly behind me and wrap my towel a little tighter.

"Hey", I huff out with a dip of my head.

He carelessly glances at me and turns around. That is, until his eyes register what they saw. Coming to a swift stop, he turns around, his eyes wide and overcome with surprise, burning down at me.

My face flares hot with color.

My self consciousness reaches its zenith, even though the look on his face suggests that the view doesn't exactly bother him. Throwing my head back defiantly, I try to ignore my state of clothing. "Are you leaving again?", I throw his own words back at him, cold and rigid.

His eyes quickly trail down my body before meeting my face. I think he notices my attempt at acting smug, because he rushes to seem uptight as well. "Yes"

His tone, which mirrors mine, only manages to get under my skin. I nod and tread towards the bed in order to retrieve my clothes, throwing a bitter "Shocker" over my shoulder.

For several seconds I can feel him standing still behind me, but I refuse to utter a word. Not only because I know that if I do, my temper will get the best of me, but also because I still hope he will change his mind on his own, or at least care to ask why I'm being blunt.

He doesn't, of course. I'm not even sure why I though he would. Because, despite his initial blow, I eventually hear him walk away, carelessly slamming the door behind him.

Something shatters inside of me.

That's it? That's _it? Again? _He tells me he needs more time to make up his mind, while I fight a losing battle every day to stay here and stay sane and prove to him that helping me is actually worth a chance, and he just walks away? For, like, the hundredth time?

_Woofreakinghoo. _Look at me. The unnoticed one again.

My mind is such a storm of emotions that I don't understand what I feel. Oh, but I know cheated is at the top of my list. Hurt is there too, though I want to tread and stamp on that one until it's trampled and dead. I don't want to let him wound me. I want to show him what he's making me go through and scream at the unfairness of it all.

I chuck my towel across the room and start getting dressed, moving fast and curtly while tears well up in my eyes.

What the hell am I still trying to do? Honestly? I'm tired. Fed up. I can't do this anymore. Can't pretend that I can wait. So what if I promised him? A promise is a promise only if it means something, and judging by Erhard's unresponsive attitude, it means jack to him.

I try to push away a bite of guilt as the wheels in my head start spinning. I need to get back to the Hollow. And in order to do that, I need to get hold of the Hessian's sword. My mind buzzes in anticipation as I pace around the room. Take the sword; press the jewels; run. It would be a pretty straightforward plan. I'd just have to execute it during the daytime, when he wouldn't be able to follow me. Well, for a few hours, that is. But it would still be a precedence and one that I would surely try to take advantage of.

As for my chances? Admittedly, they are pretty slim. But that's all I've got.

Exiting the bedroom, I stride towards the armchairs and sink into one, in hopes of simmering down. Despite my adrenalin rush that seems to be clouding the rest of my thoughts, a certain twinge of uncertainty is always present. It's that combination of right and wrong that induces it… Hah, okay, it's that combination of logic and emotion, a blend of duty and regret. No matter what I tell myself, there is no sense of canny excitement in this, no victorious satisfaction in accomplishing it. No matter what I do, I am going to fail someone, be it the Van Tassels, young Masbath and Ichabod or… well, Erhard.

_Erhard_… Despite our rocky relationship, I'll hate myself after doing this.

Oh God, I can't even lie to myself. How crap is that?

I melt backwards into the softness of the armchair. My thoughts are racing towards all directions, so I take a deep breath in order to clear my head. I cannot panic now - it will only make my already difficult position worse. I just need to take one step at a time and right now, the only thing I have to do is wait for a few hours. I fix my eyes on the ever burning fire of the hearth, telling myself it's going to be okay. Just a few more hours, and I'll be done waiting. For good.

* * *

><p>There's something painfully familiar about Erhard's return. The same spurred footfalls echoing from the antechamber. The same mindless slam of the door. The same uneasy looks we share. I've experienced that at least half a dozen times. They're enough to know it doesn't lead to anything but another repetition of the same events. They're enough to get me all worked up.<p>

And yet, as my dark eyes meet Erhard I understand that my seething anger is not enough to rein in the bombardment of my feelings towards him, and suddenly, I hesitate, wanting to lash out but feeling dumbstruck at the same time.

Nervous tension tickles over my skin as I watch him take off his cloak. Noticing my restlessness, he subtly raises an eyebrow in my direction.

I childishly glare at him for a while, before giving in to my temper. "So how was your evening?"

The words roll out like poison, I can't help it, my lips curling in a mocking grimace of a smile.

"Schön" My teeth clench at his irritatingly offhand tone. "How about you? Slept well?", he casually suggests with a cold smile.

I lean back, avoiding his gaze. "As always"

After a minute of silence, the familiar ring of his spurs fills my ears as he starts walking towards the bedroom.

That… oooh really pisses me off. I roll my eyes. "Haven't we been here before?"

He comes to an abrupt stop and turns on his heel. The silence hangs like a lumpy weight between us, and I know, for one thing, that what is to come will not be something good.

"Is something wrong?", he warningly asks, as if he can't be bothered.

"Is something _wrong?"_ I'm up in an instant, stomping my way to him, my eyes momentarily drifting down to his sword which is dangling from his waist. "You know what? I'll let you find out the answer to that on your own"

He tenses up. "Mind your tone"

"My tone is just about perfect", I inform him, making a meek attempt at pushing him.

"Linda…", he reaches out and grabs my wrist as if to calm me. But screw that.

"Look", I yell at him, freeing my hand and throwing my arms up in exasperation. "I waited. I WAITED! All these days… But it doesn't even matter! It makes no difference at all!"

He actually looks slightly shocked and part of me is astonished that I worked up the courage to speak to him like that.

His eyes glaze dangerously. "Are you finished?"

Am I finished? No, I'm freaking well not! "I'm so stupid. So, so stupid" My voice cracks and I take a step back. "You asked and like before, like every other stupid time in the past few days, I waited for you to think and decide for yourself. And you know what? It killed me. Being unable to protect those I love or even defend myself killed me, but I did it for you" A lump forms in my throat. "But you didn't notice. You NEVER notice"

He bares his teeth. "You need to calm down"

My stomach quivers at his tone but I don't allow myself to feel inferior to him. "I don't want to calm down! I don't even care anymore! Because what does it matter? You want to kill me? Then do it! It's better than being your goddamn prisoner!"

The voice that rumbles over me is filled with anger. "Ist das was du denkst?", this time he does grab my hands, hard, knuckles gripping tightly around my wrists. His face is suddenly in front of mine and it's furious. "That you're my captive?"

Oh God. His eyes bore into mine and I suddenly begin to regret my outburst.

"Do you think that this is how I would treat you if I didn't have doubts? Do you think I would let you roam about if I didn't believe a word you said?"

He shakes me so hard that cold clarity begins to seep through my veins.

"And keeping me trapped here was your solution?", my voice comes out meek and low and it is nothing compared to my previous flare-up.

He spins me around and pins me against the bedroom door, fury and rage and heat slamming into me.

"Did I ever lay a hand on you?", he snarls, pressing me up against the wooden surface. "Didn't I listen to you? Didn't I give you everything you needed?"

I frown. "You want me to be thankful you didn't starve me to death?"

"You claim there is a murderer in the village. If that is true, then you are safe here, with me, anyway. I thought this was good enough for you"

"Well, as I said, you don't notice much"

"I'm not around much!"

"I know!"

"Is that a problem?"

That hits home. I try to look away from him, but he wrenches my chin back up

He watches me, face impossible to read, waiting for an answer.

"The problem is that you… you disregard everything I say", I finally let slip, feeling my chin tremble.

"This isn't true", he crudely returns, his voice no more than a rough whisper.

I sigh in exasperation. "Then why don't you let me go?"

His hands come up to cup my face. "Because I can't"

I freeze where I am. For a moment I just stare at him, while his words swim around my mind, all the air rushing out of me like a fist has punched into my stomach.

Does he… Does he feel the same way as I do? Is that what drove him to flee every night?

My lack of self-belief cancels the thought. I can't believe that even now my stupid hope still flickers there.

I close my eyes for a moment and my tears start to flow. "Why…?", I start but I'm promptly cut off, because suddenly, his mouth is on mine, and it's furious. Lips bruising, teeth nicking and it's so rough and promising that it burns right through me. Not really kissing, but claiming. Ruining. A violent release of what had been building up between us in the past few days.

His hands run hungrily around my body, pulling me up closer till I'm wrapped around him and I just get lost in it, desire and pain and heat racing through every part of me as he continues his assault on my mouth like he can't help it. I run a hand through the raven mess of his hair and a low growl comes from the back of his throat. His light nipping gets all the more intense until he eventually bites hard on my bottom lip, causing a thin, warm trail of blood to trickle down my chin.

I let out a muffled groan and he shifts against me, refusing to stop. When I finally pull away, heaving for air, some clarity gets restored in him. He lets out a sharp breath of air and lets me slide my feet back to the floor. I clear my throat and lower my head, feeling unable to face him. Not just yet. My hand comes up to meekly wipe my lips, but Erhard grabs it almost immediately. He nudges my chin upwards and when I dare look at him again, I notice the intoxicated heat that saturates his eyes as he stares at the damage he's caused.

I'm too stunned to speak. Instead, I limply let his mouth descend slowly on mine again. For the first time I realize how much he hides. How much he really wants. How much he… oh God… He gently licks away the blood that surges from the little wounds, his hands locking around my wrists in a white-knuckle grip that reassures me he makes a great effort at holding himself back.

The way he's pressed into me I can feel the hilt of his sword pressed against my stomach. I jar slightly at the realization but Erhard doesn't seem to notice.

…_Because I can't… _

His words ring inside my head, gripping me back to reality. Whatever remnants of logic are left in me are screaming this might be my only opportunity. So close. And yet… I don't think I can do this…

Or can I?

Our lips part.

_More blood will be shed. _

For a moment Erhard looks like he's struggling to reign himself in. I see it in the lines of his face, the ragged edge of his breathing.

…_There is no stopping. _

He reaches out a thumb and gently rubs it over my sore lips. "I hurt you"

_The crimson-eyed snake is the way out. _

"No" I try to smile, knowing I'd let him do this again. "It doesn't matter"

"How does it not…?", he starts, but this time it's _me _who doesn't let _him _finish.

It's now or never.

I reach up towards him, standing on my tiptoes, my hands pulling his face downwards until I can taste his lips again. His arm comes up behind me, crashing me in a tight hug, his mouth moving away from mine to claim my neck and trail raw kisses along my collarbone.

My hands travel the whole length of his broad chest, nails digging into the worn leather of his armor. I open my eyes and glance at the ruby-eyed snake that seems to be staring at me challengingly, the sight twisting my stomach into knots.

If only I didn't have to do this. But, then again, what choice do I have?

Without giving myself time to think about what I'm actually doing, I let my hand slide lower.

He bites my neck lightly, the tiny movement making my stomach flip.

And lower.

My fingertips brush the buckle of his belt and he stops to look at me.

His face freezes and the emotion that flickers in the electrifying blue of his eyes is so unexpected that it almost breaks my heart.

I swallow, innocent nervousness unfurling in the pit of my stomach.

What the hell am I doing?

Seriously. How could I possibly believe that this is a good idea? I mean, does he even know what I'm doing? He probably wouldn't let me so close if he did. What does he think this is? Does he know I'm going for his sword? Does he think I'm trying to… to…?

No, he wouldn't… Would he?

I stay motionless for a few seconds, my hand never moving away, waiting for a warning, a chastising, the inevitable end of the world… But… nothing. He's not trying to stop me. He still has me pinned against the door, granted, but his eyes have dropped to his belt and he's just watching. Waiting.

I look down at my hand, swallowing the butterflies in my stomach, then rapidly move it two inches to the right and hook my fingers around the snake's head.

It all happens so quickly that even as I'm doing it, I can't believe I'm really _doing it. _I quickly press the red jewels and drag my hand away as if the contact burnt me.

That jolts Erhard out of wherever he's been. He looks at me in disbelief, but I'm too shocked to speak.

A thunder fills my ears. It feels like the whole world has stopped. Like it has slid away from my grip. I watch his reaction. The realization that etches itself across his face. The anger that slips over his eyes. Tears start rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably and I bite my lip to stop it from twisting into a broken sob, because the look on his face speaks volumes. It's bitter; hurt; maddened. A silent promise. An unheard threat.

His form fades into the darkness and as the rest of my surroundings dim before my eyes, I am sure of one thing only. His trust in me is shattered. We'll meet again soon.

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><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to MonstarzGirl, TheElegantFairie, bleach102, ElizBennet, watergoddesskasey, KatCharm93, HessianLover99, noodle86 and missdisaster for reviewing!**


	18. The Pickety Witch, Part I

**A/N: Aaalright, I probably shouldn't even _try _to explain myself at this point. One month? Okay. Three months? Fine, whatever. But eight months and ten days without a single update? Damn. Right. Inexcusable. *shrinks in shame* To my defense, it's been a hell of a senior year in high school, what with preparing for my huge final exams and all (and I'm right in the middle of them, yay!) and I've litterally had no free time to devote to writing.. :(**

**Sooo... I suppose I can only apologize and promise to update more regularly from now on. (If you're still interested in reading!) Anyway, rambling over. On with chapter 18!**

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><p><em>Lost the battle, win the war<br>I'm bringing my sinken ship back to the shore  
>Starting over or head back in<br>There's a time and a place to die but this ain't it._

Now - Paramore

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><p>My eyes flutter open. I glance around, taking in my surroundings, though my mind weakly refuses to identify anything. Eerie silence. Dead leaves. Bare branches.<p>

The smell of damp earth fills my nostrils and I realize I'm lying on the ground.

It… it worked…?

Oh God, it worked! I actually did it.

Instinct takes over and I flinch up in sudden panic.

I slowly and waveringly get on my feet and try to take stock of the situation, let the weight of what has just happened sink in.

I'm out. I'm out, I've escaped and I did it and I'm in the woods and Erhard…

Erhard…

Feeling my legs weak and wobbly, I lean against a nearby tree, one hand resting limply on the bark as the other lightly touches my still damp lips. A wave of pure giddiness surges through every part of my body as the memory of our heated moment comes back and, suddenly, I feel cold and desolate and I need his burning touch again.

He kissed me. The terrifying, unholy Hessian Horseman kissed me. Like a proper, rough, can't-get-my-hands-off-of-you, full on, breathless kiss. And I liked it. I wanted it. His body against my own, his lips on mine, the outburst of his feral need… My need… I wanted that and more of it and the realization scares me and, for some reason, I feel like I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and shakily risk a look back. The Tree of the Dead stands in its place tall and eerie as always and the emotion that squeezes through my throat, as I stare wide-eyed at it, threatens to break the last traces of will in me.

It's guilt, of all things.

I lean on the hard wood for a couple of minutes, silent and still, almost giving up and giving the Hessian time to crop up from the tree's entrance on Daredevil and catch me.

Nothing happens, of course. I know he can't follow me and the fact makes me feel hollow and cold.

_I did the right thing and I don't regret it, _I tell myself, struggling to believe it before my tears have a chance to force themselves out. There was a plan. There IS a plan. I propel myself away from the rough trunk and turn around. I wipe my lips, trying in despair to forget about that kiss. It was wrong, right? It shouldn't have happened, anyway. I just needed to get out, that's all, and it doesn't even matter, because I deceived him and he will certainly hate me for that.

Yeah…

I can picture it. His reaction. He's surely pacing the antechamber like a caged animal, whilst releasing a stream of German curse words, ready to mount on Daredevil and ride out his fury. Ready to let the beast in him loose. I've come to know him well enough to be certain of that.

"It's fine", I mumble to myself. But it's not fine. It's far from fine and I cannot stand to think more about it. About _him. _About what could have happened if I had stayed. About how sorry I am.

So I clench my teeth, pretend that the knot in my stomach doesn't almost paralyze me and force my legs to work. My vision is blurry due to my tears and I feel cold, but I'm not stopping, not if my life depended on it. I try to ignore the thought of Erhard, which still whispers at the edges of my mind, and concentrate on remembering the correct route to the village, because, once again, taking step after step is how I'm going to deal with this. Another day, another adventure, right?

Right. Okay.

My pace soon gets more intense and after a while I go from marching to sprinting through the trees, struggling not to lose my way, my eyes wildly scanning the forest for little signs that will reassure me I'm on the right way. I cannot get lost now. I cannot waste time.

The witch's cave, when I see it, fills me with relief. So far so good. I dart towards it through the familiar tunnel of bending trunks, not with a certain purpose exactly, just hoping for some kind of help. My stride gets steadier and my apprehension starts to subside as I make it closer, the wheels in my head already spinning, planning ahead.

It's only when my eyes land on the pathetic heap near the cave's opening that I falter.

No…

My eyes linger numbly over the motionless tumble of white shreds and blood.

She's dead. The witch is lying on the ground, dead.

And the worst part? She's decapitated.

I stand frozen in my spot, my gaze slowly moving away from the lifeless form, covered by her frazzled dress and following the sickening trail of blood that leads to the… head.

It takes me a moment to grasp it and when I do, I fall on my knees and sigh deeply in relief, although what is comforting about this situation, I don't know. The thing is, the murderer wasn't Erhard. It couldn't have been. The wound would be cauterized by the hot blade and there wouldn't be so much blood.

Oh, the blood. There's just so much of It…

Without even thinking about it, I crawl closer to the head, my jeans and top getting splotched by the crimson mix of dirt and blood. But at this point, I don't even care. I just creep closer, my shock and my sick curiosity getting the best of me. Biting my lower lip, I reach out a trembling hand and clutch a few tufts of white hair, turning the head towards me.

Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick.

I blanch and draw back from it, losing my balance and landing on my butt. Despite the extremely pale complexion, the various scars and bruises and the slightly wry mouth, I know I am not mistaken. This is a face I recognize.

Mary Van Tassel…?

I try to gasp, but almost choke on it. My mind is suddenly in a stir, processing the new information, pulverizing every possibility.

How could this be? How could it be that it was _her? _It couldn't have been her!

A whiff of dread drizzles down my spine. I take a moment to calm myself down. It doesn't help, though. I can't shove the horror and the distress away, so I just settle for trying not to react. The Hollow. I need to get to the Hollow. I fumble back on my feet, remove the dead leave that's snarled up in my hair and start to walk away from the gruesome site, fast, steady and always in control because I will NOT lose it now.

My anxiety helps me move quick and swiftly. I keep forging ahead without stopping, taking turn after turn, all the while hating the fact that the forest seems to stretch on forever. Every hour that flies by is a disadvantage and the certainty of that, along with the unawareness of what I will be met with once I reach the village does little to keep me from losing my nerve. My ears strain for the sound of hoof beats following me, but the woods remain quiet.

He can't come out, not yet.

As I move on, the trees gradually become fewer and more scattered. And then I see smoke sprouting towards the hazy sky, blending into the fog. An ebb of relief passes through me, goading me to keep going. Reaching the entrance of the forest, I stop and spare myself a moment, my back against a tree and my palm against my forehead, resting… hiding… whatever. I only then realize that my breath comes out in short, ragged puffs, clouding in front of my face and that my eyes sting from the biting wind. Exhaustion begins to sip slickly through my limbs, pulse thudding violently through my ears, but I don't let my resolve collapse. I swallow, turn around, always covered by the tree's trunk and observe the village. No one is outside but for a crippled carriage that lazily passes through the outskirts of the town. I wait impatiently for it to take a turn, unwilling to let anyone see me in this outfit.

I don't waste more time. Once it's out of view, I take a deep breath, gather my last traces of energy and sprint forwards. My legs carry me towards the Van Tassel estate as fast as they can go, thumping and pounding roughly on the ground, past the first houses and the bridge and I just keep running uphill until… I'm there, a few feet away from the huge mansion.

I gaze in amazement at the familiar house that looks exactly the same as I had left it. It feels so surreal. It's almost as if I had never left.

Almost.

As it turns out, though, I have no time to feel relieved or safe or even good about myself. No time to think about my next move. Actually, I don't even have time to stop and catch my breath, because all out of a sudden, Constable Ichabod Crane pops out of an ebony carriage and makes for the mansion's open front door.

The emotions that burst in my chest are almost too much for me. Relief, joy, agitation, all to such an extreme that I cannot stop my legs from leading me towards him and my mouth from making a hysteric sound that resembles his name.

He turns around and the sight of his familiar face allows me to feel secure and sure of myself for the first time since my escape. His determined frown turns into shock in a dot. He stands frozen in his spot, his dark eyes wide and surprised and I don't even bother to explain. Without a second word, I dash towards him and throw myself in his arms, heedless of the fact that my filthy clothes are staining his perfectly neat suit.

For several seconds, I stay there, my arms locked around his neck, just hanging onto him and laughing in gladness while tears of relief well up in my eyes. At first, he stands motionless, probably too stunned to comprehend my presence and the sudden invasion of his private space, but eventually his arms come up as well, briefly holding me before moving to my elbows and pulling me away so that he can face me.

"Linda…" His gaze studies me from head to toe in incredulity. "I- I cannot believe my eyes. I thought… everyone thought you were-"

"Dead?", I cut him off, staring back at him in curiosity.

"Yes." His reply comes out curt, in his usual matter-of-fact tone. "We returned from New York, only to find the house violated and ravaged. You were nowhere to be seen. At first everyone assumed it was the Horseman but there was no body to be found and-"

"It _was _the Horseman.", I interrupt his rapid reciting, but I don't get the chance to elaborate, because another nearing carriage is suddenly heard, snapping us both out of our briefing.

I grab Ichabod by the sleeve and drag him behind a nearby wall so that we're out of sight. He stumbles along and gets hold of my arms again in a rare show of closeness, eager to learn more.

"But he did not kill you…", he encourages me for more, struggling to understand, his face full of disquietude.

I give him a short summary of the week's events, leaving out the part of my stay with Erhard and the details of my escape. Ichabod listens silently in deep contemplation, but doesn't push for specifics, seemingly in a rush, as well. He frowns deeply as I express my fear about the Hessian's return and looks ready to jump into action.

"There is no time to loiter, then. Listen. I have good reason to think that the culprit is Mary Van Tassel."

The new piece of information makes me almost dizzy and I feel like my legs are ready to give. Lady Van Tassel? Α murderer?

The memory of the Hessian's skull in her room hits me like a slap across the face. _Stupid. _I should have seen it from miles away. Of course it was her. But then… the body in the woods… I mean… Who…?

"I shall explain to you later", he adds, noticing my stupor. "Right now we need to find Katrina and young Masbath."

I nod assertively. He's right. There's only time for action, now. He turns towards the house expecting me to follow him, but there is one question that still eats me.

"What about Lord Van Tassel?"

His face hardens slightly and, this time, it takes him a moment to answer. "He is dead."

A cold sweat washes over me. Dead. Such a neat little word with such a horrible meaning.

Ichabod guesses my next question. "I am most certain that Mary Van Tassel performed this murder herself. Now, we must hurry."

I try and smother the sick feeling in my stomach and force my feet to move once more, thankful for his collected presence which is nothing like mine. We bolt into the house and the sound of his voice, calling for Katrina, drifts over me as the memory of my pursuit with the Hessian haunts me. Images of the entire week stab through my head. My heart rate starts to go up and I feel far from comfortable. I risk half a look at Ichabod, almost afraid that he can somehow tell how I feel, but he pays no mind to me, searching desperately for Katrina instead. Seeing his worry and apprehension wakes me up as well and I start jogging from room to room, peering behind doors and rushing to get through with this.

I am passing through the main hall, moving towards the library when I hear young Masbath descend the staircase and call my name. I come to a swift stop and the corners of my lips tug into a small, genuine smile. He wordlessly lopes towards me and gives me a brief but tight hug.

We hardly have a chance to say anything, though. He starts to speak (and I'm certain he's about to ask me what happened), when Ichabod jumps in front of me and grabs him by the shoulders.

The panic in the constable's voice as he asks young Masbath about Katrina takes me by surprise and I know that losing her is not an option for him.

"It was Lady Van Tassel, sir!" Young Masbath's voice is full of alarm. "She took her to the Windmill. We have to go!"

No one says otherwise. We stand in awkward silence, our worst fears confirmed. There is no doubt about Lady Van Tassel's intentions.

Then, Ichabod's jaw hardens and he turns firmly on his heel, heading for the exit.

I hurry to catch up along with young Masbath. The two of us clamber into the carriage and I thank God that Ichabod decides to drive the coach himself. Leaping up onto it, he gets seated and whips the horses away.

The journey to the Windmill is a short and racing one. Nevertheless, the silence in the carriage is enough to trigger my raging panic. I try to shut everything else out, try to narrow my thoughts to focus only on Katrina and on the creaking strain of the coach's wheels as Ichabod drives it like a bat out of hell, but it's hard and it gets even harder when I glance out the window.

Dusk is starting to creep in, turning the quiet forms of the trees into nothing more than looming shadows in the growing murkiness. I suddenly hate the fact that the Windmill is so close to the Western Woods.

My clammy palms grip the black leather of my seat as I fight not to let the realization drown me in fear. Young Masbath notices my discomfort but doesn't spare me a word, his worries probably similar to mine.

I have to hang onto the door's handles so as not to fall off of my seat as the carriage swerves to a screeching stop. We're out in a flash. My cry to Ichabod is stifled by a thunder and I have to grab his arm for him to stop.

"You should stay here." It's a statement full of control. I give him no room to argue. "We'll probably have to cut and run", I add pointedly, gesturing towards the coach.

For a moment, he looks as if he's about to protest, but then he nods reluctantly, as if acknowledging the logic in my plan.

"Go." That's all he says and it's good enough for me.

I give him a heartening look, silently asking him to trust me, even though at this point, even I can't trust myself.

Then it's a race to the high-reaching, abandoned building. I notice the ivory steed that stands a few good feet away and silently make it inside along with young Masbath, faintly glancing at the door that is already open, hanging wretchedly from its hinges.

We only take a few halting steps, before the echo of a familiar voice fills our ears. Well, maybe 'familiar' is an overstatement. The mellow, prudent tone I had been used to is washed away, replaced by harshness and malice.

I exchange a knowing look with young Masbath. Lady Van Tassel is here.

I force myself to remain calm and noiseless. Calculating. She's speaking, that's good. Katrina is still alive. Signalling to Jonathan again, I indicate that we're going upstairs and he nods, catching on.

I swallow, nervous. My instincts are screaming to get out and yet young Masbath is still behind me, waiting for me to take the first steps. God, if I could speak, I would curse for being so scared.

Lady Van Tassel' voice, when it gets louder, jolts me out of it. I refocus, remind my legs how to work and start moving upwards, climbing the spiralling staircase. She keeps talking and I cannot make out much except singled out words.

"_Horseman… Baltus… servant girl…"_

I try to pull myself away from it, stay detached from whatever she says. There's no room to waver.

But it's hard and I fight not to tune in on her words as we make it closer.

"My family name… was Archer. I lived with my father and mother and sister in a gamekeeper's cottage not far from here"

I clamber up the last steps and stoop down, taking a peek of the room. It is full of dusty machines, boxes and clutter. Katrina is lying on the ground, groggy and confused but thankfully fine while Lady Van Tassel ambles around, an axe in her hands.

The edge of fear is suddenly back.

"…Until one day my father died and the landlord who received many years of loyal service from my parents evicted us. No one in this God-fearing town would take us in…"

I glance back at young Masbath who's standing right behind me, beckoning him to come closer. He follows the silent order obediently and comes to crouch down next to me.

"…because my mother was suspected of witchcraft…"

I point out with my index finger at the clutter behind Lady Van Tassel. And I don't need to say more. He nods avidly and as soon as she turns her back, he propels himself away from the stairs and makes for it. It all happens in mere seconds. He manages to reach it just on time and bends down, hiding behind it.

The movement doesn't escape Katrina's attention. She flinches, barely perceptibly, but knows better than to expose our plan.

"…But she schooled her daughters well while we lived as outcasts in the Western Woods. She died within a year and my sister and I remained in our refuge, seeing not a soul. Until, gathering firewood one day, we crossed the path of the Hessian."

The mere mention of Erhard jolts through me. Suddenly, staying disconnected seems impossible. I almost lose it, hardly able to remind myself that I should not give away my spot, because, for a moment, everything but the terrible thought of Erhard dying gets crossed out.

"…I saw his death and from that moment I offered my soul to Satan if he would raise the Hessian from the grave to avenge me."

Pure anger racks up in my stomach. It takes all my will power not to ruin everything and pounce on her. I just try to stay still and quiet and keep breathing, but she's so smug and scornful that it grapples with my self-control.

Some kind of movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention, helping me regain some part of my composure. Young Masbath works his way quietly around behind Lady Van Tassel and I focus on praying that he remains unseen.

Katrina fumbles for a way to make sure her stepmother stays distracted. "Avenge you?"

"Against Van Garret, who evicted my family and left us to starve while Baltus Van Tassel, who with his wife and simpering girlchild, stole our home. I swore I would make myself mistress of all they had…"

She cackles to herself. The bitch actually finds this amusing.

"The easiest part was the first - to enter your house as your mother's sick nurse and put her body into the grave and mine into the marriage bed."

A look of shock registers on Katrina's face and she fails to hold back a light cry of horror.

"Not quite so easy was to secure my legacy. The widow had to go, of course. And the servant - Masbath. And then just the other day that silly midwife Killian told me the widow had told her a big secret. And she told me this right in front of her husband and his brother! What a goose! So, another little job for the Horseman. Then there was Linda Masbath. I spared her sorry life, but then the little minx went and read Johanna Killian's diary and learned about the widow's pregnancy. I had the perfect chance to get rid of her."

My stomach turns. Get rid of me? Get _rid _of me? To her a freaking line in a diary is enough a reason to end a life? To end so many lives? What does she think this is? A silly game? It was not flies she killed. It was people. People who lived and had hopes and dreams and families and, suddenly, I just know I hate her. I. Hate. This is her fault. All of it.

Her fault.

She presses her thin lips in disdain, her expression clouding with disfavour. "But the brat must have somehow discovered the Horseman's skull. It worked as well, though. To all appearances, even if she returned it to him, he did not spare her life. And even without my dark avenger I would not let my plan crumble when I had reached this far."

Her dark _what? _The thought of the strong, imposing man I'd felt terrified of, the man I've ended up feeling so drawn to being restrained and commanded by her is just too wrong and terrible. Something hot and sharp surges through me and I even though I don't really understand why I feel so outraged it just… Ugh! The urge to scream and lash out and hurt things is too strong and I keep fighting it and telling myself it doesn't matter to me, because I know that if I don't, I won't be able to hold back.

"Besides, lust delivered Reverend Steenwyck into my power. Fear did the same for the Notary Hardenbrook and the drunken Phillips. And the Doctor's silence I exchanged for my complicity in his fornications with the servant girl Sarah."

My eyes glance around in confusion, landing on young Masbath. He picks up an oversized wooden mallet and works his way into the open, weapon raised and eyes alight. I use that as a distraction from the mess in my head and the ache in my chest and somehow manage to concentrate on where I am again.

Katrina leans back on her elbows, muffling a gasp at the sight of Jonathan. Her dark eyes are fixed timidly on her stepmother, struggling to keep her attention steadily clamped on her.

"Yes! You have everything now."

At that, Lady Van Tassel tenses. She crouches down, lowering herself to Katrina's level and snaps out in impatience.

"No! You have, my dear. By your father's will. I get everything in the event of your _death_." She slowly gets up and steps back a pace, thankfully without turning around. "My sister, by the way, sadly passed away. Quite recently…"

I shake my head and the room spins. The overflow of information is all too sudden and it takes me aback. The image of the blood-soaked, decapitated crone claws its way through my mind and the mystery instantly unravels. Katrina voices my thoughts.

"You killed your own sister."

"She brought it on herself…" She arches her eyebrows and shakes her head as if this all a mild nuisance. As if she can't be bothered.

And I can't hear this anymore.

Another brief look is exchanged between me and Jonathan. He dips his head in silent agreement and moves his weapon, aiming for the witch's head. But then…

"By helping you and your master!"

The mallet thuds loudly as it falls from young Masbath's hands and lands limply on the wooden floor. She's turned in a flash, eyeing him in such taunting malice that he lets out a choked gasp and lurches back, searching for support on the clutter behind him.

And I know it's time for action.

Katrina sweeps upwards and Lady Van Tassel starts to turn towards her, her sickening laughter steeling my resolve. My entire body buzzing with tension, I blast off of my position.

Suddenly, the resentful smirk on t Lady Van Tassel's face seems less certain. Maybe it's because of my unexpected presence; maybe it's because of my outlandish attire; maybe it's generally because of the fact that I'm still alive. I don't bother with considering why. I just take advantage of the dither in her smugness and lunge at her, letting my anger, my fear and my despair pour out as we hit the floor together.

Young Masbath rushes to Katrina's side, who stands frozen, unable to comprehend what happened in mere seconds.

I briefly ignore them, focusing on raiding Lady Van Tassel of her axe. Unlike me, she manages to regain her control quite quickly and begins to thrash beneath me, seeking to knock me over. Or out. But I've kicked into battle mode and I tell myself I won't hang back. I won't. So I strike before she can land a hit on me, all the while struggling to subdue her. My blow, however, is what really gets this going. Fuming, she screetches and stretches out, seeking to get hold of my hair.

But I just won't have it.

Making sure I stay out of her reach, I manage one more hit and her fervour gives way, allowing me to get hold of the axe's handle. Snatching it out of her hand, I hurl it across the room, all the while making sure she stays pinned down.

It's not enough. Not as long as she can still harm someone.

I rip my eyes away from her and glance at young Masbath and Katrina who stand a few feet away, ready to jump into action. But the night is falling and the Hessian's coming and I just want them safe and out of here.

"Go! Get out of here!" My voice is high-pitched and fast. They flounder for a brief moment, but stay put. I shake my head. "I have to do something first." I somehow manage to stare at them blankly as the lie rolls off my tongue. But I'm not sorry. I got into this mess to make sure they're safe and that's _exactly _what I'm going to do.

They almost look convinced. "I'll catch up", I add reassuringly with a forced smile.

Katrina starts to say something, but then stops, confused. I look at young Masbath almost warningly and he finally complies. His eyes full of uncertainty, he takes Katrina by the hand and goads her to follow him downstairs, giving me a last uneasy look.

Although it's hardly enough to make me change my mind, it does manage to cloud my thoughts, having me wonder whether I'll actually manage to join them again. Lady Van Tassel pushes her advantage. Seeing that my guard is down, she shoves me and I topple over to the side, my head hitting a box behind me.

Damn it.

My vision swims with the pain that spreads through my head, but I refuse to waiver. Using the box I collided with as a support, I manage to sit up.

She's already made her way to me, though, tense and still confident. "Masbath…" Her voice is full of distaste as she towers over me, her brows furrowing as she studies my clothes. "You just _don't _know when to _die_."

I hide my anger behind a mask of impassivity. "You're sick."

"Now, now. Isn't that ungrateful? I had every intention of letting you live. Is it my fault that you senselessly got in my way?" She bites out the words like it's a bitter taste in her mouth. "But who would have thought that feeble Linda would prove to be too much for the Horseman? Tell me, really. How in the world did you convince him to spare your life?"

A bitter, constrained laughter comes from the back of my throat. "He's no longer your puppet." The words hiss out of me. "You thought you could just use him like that and get away with it? Tonight he's coming for _you_, bitch."

Yeah, I know. That's a big leap of faith I took there. But for now? It did his job.

A look of shock finally registers on her face. And it's exactly the opening I was hoping for.

My leg springs up, just enough to hit her ankle. She stumbles back with an aggravated cry and I instantly get back on my feet, thankful for the fact that I'm in my jeans.

She knows better than to let me pounce on her again, though. Regaining her balance, she grabs a few tufts of my hair, dragging me back down. Squirming, I manage to twist out of her hold, though some of my hair stays in her hands.

Now that's just playing dirty.

This time, she actually manages to land a couple of blows on me. I charge at her again and tackle her to the ground. Making the mistake of thinking that is enough for her to stay down, though, I give her the chance to roll me over, trying to take the dominant position.

But I won't allow that.

I toss and squirm and fidget on the ground, never letting her get hold of my arms, but she's stronger than I expected and I don't have the element of surprise to my benefit, anymore.

Desperate, I yell out and raise my hand, balling it up in a fist. Her furious look flickers for a second and my knuckles collide with her cheekbone in a punch that hurts my hand like hell.

The damage on Lady Van Tassel's face is greater, though.

She winces back in pain, and I abruptly push her off of me, letting her tumble on the floor, unable to react.

Fumbling hands search for something, I'm not sure what. My fingers graze something hard and wooden and I pick it up, bringing it in front of my face.

The axe.

I stare at it, refocusing, then fix my gaze on Lady Van Tassel who is now lying on her back, watching me.

My grip locks around the handle as I get up and approach her. She twitches in fear, waiting for it silently.

But I… I just…

The deep gasp of air I take manages to clear my head. She's a monster. She deserves it. Others wouldn't hesitate. One swift hit and it would be done.

But I can't. I can't do this. I can't kill her.

It's just not who I am.

I fight to slow my breathing. Crouching down, I raise my weapon and quickly slam the handle against the witch's head before she has a chance to react.

The impact of the wood on her skull is not too hard, but it's enough to make her pass out. Her eyes drift out of focus and she collapses on the hard, unforgiving wood, her hair cloaking her face like a blonde curtain.

The axe falls off of my hands, slumping on the floor.

I need to get out of here. I need to find the others.

My legs take me to the staircase and I descend it quickly, too scared to stop, not till I'm out in the open. The heavy rain soaks though me, washing away the thought of the unconscious Lady Van Tassel and gripping me back to reality.

My eyes scan the field around me for any sign of Ichabod's carriage, but it's long gone and I wonder if that fills me with relief or dread.

Right now, it's probably the latter.

I contemplate my next step. I have to get to the village, before she does. My mouth goes dry at the realization. There's only one way to achieve that.

Cutting through the Western Woods.

Okay. Time's up. I wouldn't be able to hide forever anyway. I knew this would happen since the very moment I saw the seething anger in Erhard's eyes…

I push the thought away and start walking towards the woods again, although, with every step I take, something inside me screams at me to stop. The trees lurch and reach out tauntingly, snarling in my drenched hair and clothes and I manage to move forwards on sheer willpower alone. The harder I try though, the heavier the rain gets until it turns into an unstoppable downpour that drowns the forest into a deadly darkness and splatters my jeans with mud.

I skid more than once, my soaked hands reaching out for the scraggy branches that keep me upright and make sharp cuts on my fingers in exchange. But I push it, getting with it and moving onwards until my muscles burn and my throat gets thick and raw with the strfing-

Crap. I freeze where I am, barely able to avoid blundering and tumbling in the mud. My pulse begins to race, ears ringing as a mixture of acute feelings crash into me. Fear. Apprehension. Cold, hard panic.

I close my eyes and swallow, telling myself it's not real, just my imagination running wild, but my assumption frays rapidly as the sound becomes clearer and clearer.

Hoof beats. Fast, powerful hoof beats. Approaching.

_Scampering._

I turn around, every single part of me quivering with the steadily intensified sound of the gallop.

Daredevil.

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><p><strong>AN: As always, many thanks to watergoddesskasey, noodle86, Guest, bleach 102, XxAniketosxX, chantierra10, Lilithmorte, Hessian304, HeesianLover99, RusholmeRuffian, Ghost12345, VelvetRoseDragon, The Dangerous One and Chesair for their awesome reviews! :)**


	19. The Pickety Witch, Part II

_Ever wonder about what he's doing  
>How it all turned to lies<br>Sometimes I think that it's better  
>to never ask why<br>_

Try - Pink

* * *

><p><em>I turn around, every single part of me quivering with the steadily intensified sound of the gallop. <em>

_Daredevil._

* * *

><p>The sturdy steed soon comes into view, cantering feverishly into the night. Mud splatters around it as its powerful hoofs sink into the ground but it charges on, uninterested, defying the storm's rampancy.<p>

I stay still and tense, my eyes slowly dragging up to meet the rider.

The Hessian's dark cape waves and billows wildly in the wind before eventually flapping to his side as he brings Daredevil into an abrupt stop, a few good feet away from me. The horse lets out a screeching neigh and stands up on his back legs, before pounding his hoofs back on the sodden ground, but Erhard stays unaffected, hardly even noticing.

Mainly because his eyes are fixed on me.

My head spins dizzily.

For the longest moment he does nothing at all. He just sits there, atop his raven horse, his gloved hands gripping firmly the reins. Glaring. Oblivious to the rain.

I fight to hold myself together; to stand on my feet and return the look. Oh, but his towering form rushes all the breath out of me, his eyes burning into my very core and I feel… I feel…

Not scared. Not anymore. It's something worse; deeper. It rips through me and I need to let it out, I want to tell him I'm sorry, make him understand, make him talk to me…

But I don't. I can't. Because the intensity in his eyes is so strong that it stuns me. Instead I weakly lower my head, searching for an answer as to what I have to do in my soaked top, which is splattered dark from the rain, and in my drenched hair that falls in heavy, snarled tufts of auburn in front of my face.

It doesn't help. Nothing helps. Because, this time, he's here, right in front of me, and there's nowhere for me to run and hide.

Daredevil's soft trot as he slightly moves is enough to snap my head back up. I gather all my courage and give Erhard a pleading look, begging him for some kind of response. He remains precariously quiet, though, cold water trickling in rivulets down his dark hair and chin.

My heart clenches at the stormy expression of his face and, for a moment, I can't help but wonder: Is that what I did? Is he going to be cold like a stone to me from now on? Did I ruin it all?

Dammit, I'm not nearly as unaffected as I tried to prove.

I take a shuddering breath and he stirs, ever so slightly.

Slowly, I try to convince myself that I cannot stay there forever. I could explain. I could tell him he didn't give me much of a choice. But then, what? It's still my fault. Would he help me? Would he leave me alone? Would he even listen?

"I'm sorry." I force myself to speak, voice cracking and yielding as my throat strains to keep away the tears.

His face darkens, but he says nothing.

Something inside me twists with annoyance. _Always so stubborn. _

So I repeat it, daring to get closer. "I'm sorry! I didn't…" The heel of my hands roughly wipes away my embarrassing tears and I hope he cannot tell them from the rain. _"_I just…"

Shit! Even now, I can't.

I look up at him, getting completely thrown off by the emotion in his eyes and the tense lines of his face and, suddenly, I realize that he's probably not speaking because he's fighting to keep his fickle control.

Somehow, that doesn't scare me. It only hurts.

I turn my head to gaze at the thickness of the woods, frustrated. I need him to talk to me, dammit.

"I know who your witch is! I understand why you might not want to… want to.." I try to catch my shuddery breath, blinking the water out of my eyes. "…believe me, especially now, but I… I…"

He scowls, perplexed. His mouth works, but only a rugged gnarl comes out.

"I want to… I mean, I have no time…Please…"

This time, something in his expression cracks. He eyes me dangerously. "Please what?"

His growls buzzes through me. "Please help me!" I shout it half-angered, half-desperate, approaching till I stand right next to Daredevil. "She's out there, free. Help me help you!"

His eyes burn down on me. For a few seconds, he seems like he's contemplating and I stare back wide-eyed, hoping that he will bring himself to trust me.

Then, a strong arm reaches out for me. I raise my arms and he helps me up, his iron grip placing me firmly in his lap. The wind is freezing cold and I'm in nothing but my wringing wet tank top, but, suddenly, my skin burns and I start to feel flushed and-

Oh my!

Erhard nudges Daredevil to a trot, but the saddle is slippery from the rain and I begin to slither off of it. He moves instantly, his hand slamming into my stomach and fitting me close up against him in order to keep me steady.

Damn, that's _too _close.

My eyes flicker up to his face, hoping for God knows what, but something inside my chest slowly crumbles as I notice that the emotion has now vanished. His guard seems to be up again and there's nothing of the man that kissed me under the Tree.

He doesn't even look at me.

Through the tangle of emotions and worries a few thoughts momentarily rear their ugly heads. Is he just hiding everything like he used to? Or doesn't he really care anymore? I swallow shakily, hating his blankness.

I try to sit upright. "Erhard…?"

His hand pulls me even closer, confusing me, fingers bunching around the material of my top.

"Don't move", he warns, not angry but… something else. Cold. "Where are we going?"

I try to focus on answering, separate emotion from reason, because the latter hurts less. Where was I planning to go, really? If I had made it to the Hollow I would have probably tried to get to Ichabod, Katrina and young Masbath but… do I even know where they are? And can I go…well… like this?

Well, once again, do I have much of a choice?

I stare fixedly into nothing. "To the Van Tassel estate", I announce, hoping for the best. "It's where you chased me."

He all but grunts, catching on. Then his spurs dig lightly in, urging Daredevil on and he picks up speed, cantering feverishly into the night.

My exhaustion starts to take over. It's the first time I realize I'd been on my feet all day, running in the woods; wandering through the town; getting into a brawl. Some parts of my body still strain from that, I realize; the blows I earned. Others are just numb from the cold torrent that showers me and the even colder wind. I lean back, head resting on Erhard's armoured chest, seeking a shelter in his warmth. He just rides, totally focused, the only indication that he's aware of my presence being the steel-like grip of his arm around me.

I watch the blur of darkness. Try to distinguish tree from empty night. I don't allow myself to think of anything else. The others, Erhard, Mary Van Tassel. Or should I say Archer? I decide to deal with everything as it comes. For now, I just observe the tall shadows around me, let my mind tune in with Daredevil's steady gallop.

And, by God, I avoid thinking about the last time I was in this position and how different things were.

Then we're in the town, passing by house after house, crossing the wooden bridge that protests creakily to the horse's strong steps, riding uphill.

Until we're there. At home.

I nearly snort to myself at the thought. This house never really felt like home.

It still doesn't, now more than ever.

I don't wait for Erhard to help me down. Once he pulls Daredevil into a stop and lets go of me, I jump down on the muddy ground. My legs are far weaker than I thought, though, and they give, letting me trip and land on my knees.

Ugh. Typical bungler.

Then again, what are a couple more scrapes and little more mud compared to what I've gotten through today?

Two muscular arms drag me back up before I get the chance to get up by myself. I glance at Erhard in embarrassment, tiredness thinning out my balance. The slightest hint of concern passes through his eyes, but it dissolves fleetingly at the sound of a neigh. It's faint. Nearly muffled by the loud splatter of the rain.

But it's there.

I glance back abruptly, my drenched hair splashing my face with more unwelcome water. And my blood freezes.

A white steed, the same I'd seen outside the windmill stands several feet away. A dark, slim figure rushes inside the stable, oblivious to our presence.

She's… she's… Oh my God…

I turn to Erhard again, eager to tell him. "She's-"

"It's her."

His jaw works, face hard and full of hatred and I realize that I don't have to tell him anything really. Because, somehow, he just knows.

He takes a slow step forwards, passing me by. The dangerous spark in his eyes does not escape my attention.

Fear stabs through my stomach. I'm not sure what I'm scared of. Him? The witch? More people getting hurt?

I don't have enough time to decide. Without a second word, he starts walking, heading towards the stable, determined.

No…

"Wait…", I try to reach out for him, but he shrugs me off and keeps on walking.

I lope behind him, panicking. I can't watch this… I can't watch him do that… Not like this. Is he going to kill her? Is he going to… to…

"Erhard, please!" A slippery hand tries to grip his arm and he pushes it roughly away.

So I try again and again, unsure of what I want exactly, until he snaps and spins around, grabbing me by the shoulders, teeth bared and eyes shooting flames. "ENOUGH!" My feet slip and slide in the mud as he shakes me and I suddenly remember why I felt terrified of him.

I look at him in shock, unable to utter a word. The rage of his voice, the iciness of his eyes, they burn down at me and I'm so shaken that all I want to do is cry pathetically.

Then his painful gip relaxes and he softens slightly. "You have done enough."

I've done enough? What's that supposed to mean? Is it good or bad?

I can't say anything, so I settle for staring at him timidly, hoping that it's enough.

It isn't. Regarding my silence as compliance, he backs away, hands disappearing from my shoulders, and makes his way towards the stable again.

I stay motionless, watching him through the blur of my tears. I think some stupid part of me still hopes that he'll change his mind; that he'll eventually listen; that he'll think twice about this. But he never does. He just keeps on walking until he's out of view and I'm alone. For good.

My nails dig into my palms. Cold clarity begins to sip through my mind as the rain gradually peters out, turning into a steady drizzle.

_You have done enough. _

Something dries up inside me. Maybe he's right. Maybe I _have _done enough. I talked to him. I struggled to argue him into believing me. I escaped him. I led him to his witch. But this isn't even about me, is it?

It's about him. And about her using and dishonouring him. About revenge and liberation and…

I sniff, making a sorry attempt to pull myself together. Maybe that's all that matters. Maybe now that it's all done, he'll just take off. Maybe he won't bother to come back and talk to me, let me explain. Maybe I've messed it up too much this time.

Maybe he doesn't want to see me, anyway.

I brush my lank hair out of my face, then turn around with a sigh and make for the mansion's front door. I'm leaving, I decide. Try and find Ichabod. I'm not sticking around long enough to see.

In case he really doesn't.

In case he's really just leaving. For good, this time.

Better to always wonder than to know for sure, right? Safer.

Much safer.

I gloomily notice that the door is still open just like we had left it when we took off. There's a good chance the others are not here. My grim mood carries me from room to room, but I don't call for anyone. Can't find the strength to. Instead, I focus on deciding whether I hate myself more for the fact that I lost them or because Erhard affects me so bad. What's wrong with me anyway? That's what I was trying for, wasn't it? To escape. To get away from him. To get back to the Hollow.

So, now that I've achieved it, I have no right to feel like this wasn't what I wanted, at all.

The mansion's abandoned silence relieves my doubts. The house is definitely empty. I turn around, rolling my eyes, my nerves nearly broken by the realization that I'm going to have to wander through the whole village in the rain in order to find Ichabod and Katrina.

But I probably deserve it.

Crossing the dark main hallway, I contemplate where to go next. Not that Sleepy Hollow is that big a village but, admittedly, there are a few-

Oh.

I turn my head and catch sight of my reflection in the window, transfixed by the realization. My clothes are a filthy drenched mess, stained with dried blood and mud. Not pretty. I also notice, for the first time, that my shoes are all soggy, numbing my feet.

For a moment, I stay still, disoriented, but surprisingly calm.

I can't snoop around the town like this.

I briefly consider ignoring my state of clothing and moving on, but… no, I couldn't possibly let anyone else see me in my modern-day clothes. Too precarious.

So…

Right. Fine.

Feeling strangely composed, I turn to my left and clamber up the wide staircase.

From the contrast of the rain and the cold outside, my room feels like a shelter of calm. I ignore the twinge of longing that bites at me and move around curtly and confidently. This is familiar territory.

I kick off my shoes in a corner and barge into the bathroom to retrieve a towel and rub my dripping hair. Then I throw that on a floor as well, because who cares?

Clothes. I need clothes.

I open the closet and pick out a random black dress along with a corset and petticoats, all the while forcing my mind to remain blank and stark. Kicking the wardrobe closed, I throw them bluntly on the desk and strip off my jeans and top, fighting the way they stick to my soaked body. Once they are nothing more than a dirty heap by the bed, I start getting dressed.

My fingers are moving hard and fast, tying the laces of my dress behind my back in a familiar manner. Fleetly as I move, I pull them a little too tight, but I don't let myself mind about that. I don't let myself mind about anything. All I want is to be done and get out, get as far from here as possible.

I take a swift peek of the room, silently scolding myself for causing such an unholy mess. Some things never change. Deciding I'm good enough to leave, I quickly approach the mirror to check myself for any-

I come to an abrupt halt, my faint sigh ripping through the silence.

Standing at my doorway and gazing at me in the mirror's reflection, is Erhard.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ah, cliffhangers! I seem to have developed a recent love for them. :P Thanks to TheElegantFairie, KatCharm93, noodle86, bleach102, Nicky0 and HessianLover99 for reviewing! :)**


	20. Time For Explanations

_And then I see you standing there  
>Wanting more from me<br>And all I can do is try _

Try - Nelly Furtado

* * *

><p>This time I don't understand. I really don't.<p>

He… He came inside? He followed me?

My eyes remain anchored in the mirror. It feels like my world has slipped out of my control and I have no idea what to do anymore.

Why? Rejection, I could deal with. Him not finding me there, I could handle. Moving on, I could cope with.

But…_this? _What does it mean? It's off-track. It throws me out of my way. All my plans, my decisions, my control? They're out the window.

"Are you running away again?"

I flinch, staring back at him in the reflection as if he had slapped me across the face. "I…" Words refuse to roll out. I don't want to confirm it. I can't, because then I'd have to explain all the ugly thoughts that drove me here and it feels wrong.

Then again, saying no would be a blatant lie and I can't do that either. Not after begging him to believe that I was telling him the truth all along.

So I change the subject. Bite back. "How long have you been standing there?"

The familiar sound of his spurs makes me spin around. He approaches, an amused gleam chasing through his eyes. "Long enough."

Oh.

Damn.

I force a grimace of annoyance at his suggestive response. He doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he keeps coming closer and I draw back, nervousness coiling within my stomach, until my legs hit something hard and I nearly stumble.

Ugh. I'm so throwing this desk out of here, the first chance I get.

A massive hand brushes a wet tuft of hair out of my face. I wince, feebly trying to avert Erhard's touch. It's not right. Out there? He was stone cold. Didn't spare me a second word. He can't do that to me, now. It's not fair to play with my stupid, gullible emotions like that.

I try to seem aloof and unaffected, but my body does everything I don't want it to. My skin prickles with colour. My heart pounds violently in my chest. My breaths become deeper, more restrained.

He sees it. I know, because he has the audacity to lean closer and run his hands down my arms. "You're trembling."

Okay, where is he going with this? What happened to the 'I'm angry and I'm going to ignore you until you start doubting your own existence' kind of attitude?

Was I so wrong to think that it all meant nothing to him?

I grip the desk behind me, as if it was a shield. "I'm cold.", I put back saucily and look away, seeking to discourage him from… whatever it is he's doing.

He doesn't move away. He doesn't say anything, either.

I swallow, feeling lost. God, there are so many things I could tell him. Everything I've been thinking about all day long… Carefully constructed explanations. Justifications of my acts. Questions about what happened between us. But now, I can't even make a decent effort. Because, after all, every conversation we have… Nothing ever makes sense with him. Wouldn't even know where to begin.

I stare down his feet. "What happened to _her_?"

"She's dead."

I bite my lip and close my eyes for a brief moment, before looking up at him. His eyes are fixed on me, hard and careless. Apathetic.

I don't know how to feel. I'm not sorry for her, that's for sure. She killed so many people. Children. Johanna… It's just… The idea of Erhard doing it… It's strange and dreadful and I don't even want to think about it.

"Y-you killed her…" The words come out choked out. Saying them hurts.

"No. I did not."

I cast a brief frown. "Then wh-"

"She killed herself."

My throat goes dry, a sick feeling lining my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"She…" He sighs impatiently, searching for the right words. "…stabbed herself with a knife. Canny. She knew better than to fight."

I lean back, half-sitting on the desk, trying to grasp the realization, accept that this nightmare is over. I don't dare ask Erhard what he might have done if she hadn't ended her life by herself. The murderous glint in his eyes is enough an answer. It doesn't matter, anyway.

It's over.

"What?", he asks, puzzled by my reaction. Or rather, my lack of one.

_What?_ I don't know. To tell the truth, I'm currently focusing on not burying my face in his chest and starting to sob uncontrollably. But he's still waiting for a reply so I take the easy route out again. "See, that's the effect you have on people."

Yeah… He doesn't find that funny.

I shrug, attempting to look lukewarm. And failing consequently. "You understand now that I was telling the truth?"

My heart lurches as he closes in the short distance between us. "I do." His response is prompt and indifferent, as if none of that matters anymore. As if it's dead and gone. Like Mary.

My stomach starts doing panicking flips. Crap, I was not ready for this. I fumble for words in order to distract him. "If you…" His fingers snake through my hair, knocking the breath out of me. I try my hardest to tinge my voice with peevishness. "If you had let me go-"

"If I had let you go, you would be dead now." He's blunt. To the point.

And even though I hate to admit it, he's right as well.

I glance up at him, slightly irritated. The light that seeps in through the window is faint and shadowy, but his expression is clear. It's dark and burning, his blue eyes focused dangerously on me.

There's nothing of the outrage and the fury he showed downstairs.

My legs turn into jelly. What is he doing to me?

'_What would you want him to do?', _an ardent part of me asks and I blush heatedly under his gaze.

Something I've struggled to shut down, begins to unfurl inside me. "Y-you know… leaving the Tree was one of the hardest things I ever had to do…"

He frowns and for a moment, I think he's going to tell me off or snap or something… But he doesn't. He only slides his other hand down my back and rests it on my waist, watching me the whole time.

The familiar flood of desire flows through me. And I don't even want to fight it anymore.

He tilts my head up towards him, his mouth so very close to mine. And in that moment, I'm at his mercy. His face lingers there, the faintest brush of his lips tickling mine and he's… he's…

Hesitating.

What in the name of God?

It takes a few seconds for my ears to register the fast, tapping sound that comes from the hallway. And it takes my brain even longer to realize that they're actual steps.

Before either of us has a chance to react, the door swings open.

Erhard turns his head, still holding me, looking for the intruder. Katrina barges into the room, immediately coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of us.

Oh Christ…

Her hands grip the door tightly, as if looking for protection, dark eyes wide and overcome with surprise.

…Okay. So this is awkward.

Nah, scratch that. It's far worse than awkward.

I duck out of Erhard's hold and quickly make my way to Katrina, before she gets to the screaming part, still muddled from the elation of what had just been about to happen. Getting hold of her hands, I drag her outside the room, her eyes steadily fixed on Erhard in an expression of pure horror.

I throw a worried look at him, silently pleading him to stay there and not do… Well, what he usually does. Terrify people, that is. He narrows his eyes and stays frozen in his spot. The darkness is gone, though, and only the bewilderment and annoyance at being interrupted remains.

I close the door and tug Katrina with me across the hallway.

"Linda is that… that…?"

Oh man, this is bad.

"Yes, it is the Horseman."

"What is he-"

"Katrina…" I press the heel of my hand against my forehead in an attempt to suppress my growing headache. "Remember when you once asked me if you could trust me?"

Her eyes flicker around the hallway in confusion. "I… I do."

"I promise I'll explain everything. Where have you been?"

It takes her a few seconds to get a grip and speak. "In the church. We hoped you would meet us there, but-"

"Is everyone alright?"

"Y-yes." She scrapes her blonde hair back, sprinkling water on her blue-gray dress. Is it still raining? "Ichabod is downstairs with young Masbath. They're watching out for Lady Van Tassel."

I come to a grinding halt at the top of the staircase. "Yeah, well… I don't think she's coming. I don't think she'll be going anywhere, really…"

Her eyes look like they're about to bug out. "Linda, what are you saying?"

I grip the wooden handrail in uneasiness. Shoot her a pained look, hoping she'll understand. She doesn't. "She is… dead. Killed herself to be spared from the Hessian."

Katrina takes it fairly well. She all but gasps, her hand resting on her lips. I suppose she is quite confused about how she feels about everything that has happened. A sinking mix of sympathy and jealousy fills me. To be fair, she's taking it all way better than I do.

"Perhaps we should go downstairs…", I suggest, obviously rattled about the whole… situation.

She only gives me a cautious dip of her head and follows. I don't push for more. Mainly because I'm still quite uncomfortable about what she saw in my bedroom. Which is stupid, really. I mean, nothing was _actually _happening, right? We were just… kind of… having an impersonal conversation there.

Yup. Totally impersonal. Let's just stick with that.

I try to suppress the sudden fluttering in my stomach at the fresh memory of Erhard's closeness. Yeah, who am I kidding? Two more minutes and we'd be-

"Linda!"

Ichabod's agog call as I reach the base of the staircase snaps me out of my musings. He stands by the door with young Masbath, looking considerably more confident than before. I briefly wonder if it has to do with having Katrina by his side, before new worries occupy my mind.

What if he sees Erhard?

I swiftly make my way towards them. "Hey", I try to smile in a careless way "I thought I'd lost you guys."

"I'm glad to see that you're unharmed", he firmly says, his expression reassuring me he means it. "What about Lady Van Tassel?"

I look at him for a moment. Try to understand what he's thinking. When I answer, it's cautiously, eyes wide and head tilting in an imploring way. "We should move to the…uh… kitchen, maybe? There is a lot to talk about."

He gives me a nod. "Alright."

Okay, so I have to admit, comfort was only part of why I chose the kitchen. Mostly, it was for safety reasons. My safety. Ichabod's safety. Wouldn't want him to go upstairs. Plus, Erhard might decide to leave my bedroom and drift around. He has never been exactly… keen on taking orders.

That's why I make sure to close the door as we enter the room. I plop down on my chair, rejoicing in the rest it provides for my sore legs. Katrina lights several candles and takes a seat beside me. Jonathan sits opposite me, while Ichabod chooses to stand, evidently still alert and watchful.

Although my curiosity smoulders inside of me, I cannot wait to get this over with. The door could smash open and reveal a certain short-tempered German any moment now. And that is bound to end badly for everyone.

I glance awkwardly at Ichabod. "You've told them, right?"

"About what happened to you? Yes."

There is a moment of uneasy silence. Then…

"When I came back you… you said you already knew it was Mary Van Tassel. _How?"_

Ichabod briefly glances down at the gnarled surface of the table, gathering his thoughts. Then, a drift of words flows over me, explaining, and although I nod along, I'm not sure I understand. Wills, pregnancies, the conspiracy Lady Van Tassel drew the town's elders in, notary Hardenbrook's suicide, the link that connected all the victims, Ichabod's impression that Katrina was the culprit and the final realization that the corpse lying next to that of Lord Van Tassel's was not Mary's but Sarah's… It all seems like a blur, but I know that when I finally get to lie down and think about it, it will all clear up. Maybe.

Katrina and Jonathan must have already heard it, because they don't look fazed. Instead, they seem more eager to find out what went on after they left the windmill.

Young Masbath lurches over the table and looks at me. "What happened with Lady Van Tassel?"

I swallow, staring back at him. My first thought is to tie it all up in a safe and neat little summary, but… yeah, there's no way they would let me get away with it.

And let's be honest. How could I possibly make it painless, anyway?

When I find my voice, it's meek and shaky. "Well I… I lunged at her, we started to get into it and I eventually managed to knock her out. Given that she had a horse and I… well… didn't, I decided to cut through the woods." I take a deep breath, preparing for it. "There I met the Hessian."

Yup. That gets exactly the reaction I was dreading.

Jonathan's eyes grow the size of dinner plates. "Does he really have his head back?"

My heart rate instantly speeds up. When I answer, it's lightly. Or at least I hope it is. "Y-yes… He does. "

"What does he look like?"

"Young Masbath." Ichabod's voice comes out firm and stern and Jonathan recoils. I flash him a sympathetic look and then continue. "So, believe it or not, he complied to help. At this point, I was just trying to find you, so I figured you might be here. You weren't, of course, but… Lady Van Tassel was. My gaze slips somewhere behind Ichabod, fixing on an empty bowl on the counter as I gather my mettle. "The Hessian could tell she was the one who governed him_. _I don't know how, but he could... And there wasn't much I could do."

Ichabod cuts off his promenade around the room to shoot me a thrown off look. "Did he kill her?"

"No! No, he didn't. He followed her in the stable. She killed herself the moment she saw him." The words babble stupidly out of me and I instantly regret it. But it's too late because…

"How do you know?"

Um. I hate. My mouth.

"I was… there.", I manage feebly, hoping that my obnoxious blush won't betray me.

"Did he… hurt you?"

My face burns even hotter. Damn it. Even if he failed to notice before, he can surely tell I'm flushed now. "No… he just took off. Towards the woods."

I briefly turn to Katrina, throwing her a desperate glance. She presses her lips, looking at me nervously, but remains silent.

Perceptive as he might be, Ichabod thankfully doesn't seem to notice our mousy agreement.

Yeah, whatever, call me a coward, I don't really care. I'd rather dig a hole in the ground and spend the rest of my life in there than let Ichabod know the Horseman's in the house. Seriously, I've seen how he gets. This man has made a habit out of fainting.

For some reason, he does look flustered though. "So… Is she still in the stable?"

Now it's my turn to gaze at him wide-eyed. "Yeah, I guess…", I stutter, wincing in guilt. I should have thought of telling him that earlier. Way earlier.

Gratefully, though, he seems too stirred by my revelation to waste time chastising me. "In that case, I need to find Dr. Lancaster in order to move the body. Perharps Reverend Steenwyck as well." He paces around in a flurry, voicing his thoughts to no one in particular, before coming to anoher abrupt halt and turning towards the table. "Young Masbath, I need you to come along."

Jonathan, rushes to get up and barely catches up with Ichabod, who strides out of the room without a second word. Okay, that may not be exactly true. "Katrina and Linda, I would like you to stay in the house for now.", his muffled voice announces from the hallway before he storms out of the house.

Katrina and I stay silent in our seats for several long moments. She only dares to speak when both Ichabod and Jonathan are out of the house. "Linda…", her voice is little, unsure. And it throws me back to reality with a thump.

Erhard!

I blast off of my chair and whisk out of the kitchen, muttering a few choice swear words under my breath. I practically skitter up the staircase and bolt into my bedroom, bouncing the door open. Before long, Katrina is behind me, eyes full of alarm.

I hover in the doorway for a few seconds, confused, eyes taking in every little detail. My room is exactly as I had left it, red sneakers tossed in a corner, towel hanging from the iron frames at the foot of the bed, my clothes coiled in a rumply snarl on the wooden floor…

But Erhard's nowhere to be seen.

I breeze inside, eyes fumbling for any signs of him. I even search the bathroom. But it's no use.

He's gone.

A tired sigh escapes my chest as I seat myself on the bed. My gaze meets Katrina, who still stands stiffly by the door, looking at me, her befuddled expression mirroring mine.

My eyes flicker around as I struggle to understand, unable to focus on anything.

Until I look out the window.

The bleak darkness of the night sky gradually dissolves, slowly getting replenished by the light grey of a cloudy, early dawn. The faded light filters in the room in bleached rays, flooding me with the icy realization.

For some reason, the words Ichabod used to appease me back when we had visited the Western Woods, slip back on my mind, this time hard and cold and taunting. Deriding me.

_The Horseman does not ride in the light of day._

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to bleach102, TheElegantFaerie, Guest, LilithMorte, HessianLover99, noodle86, xLunaAngelWarriorx, darangellove19 for reviewing! And to answer bleach102's question, yes, I believe Linda is quite taken with Erhard. :) **


	21. Uneasy Encounters

_And I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts  
>I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out<br>_

Broken - Lifehouse

* * *

><p>Ugh.<p>

I roll over so that I lie on my stomach, burying my head under my squishy pillow.

It's late, it's biting cold and my dress is all rumpled and mussed up from sleeping in it.

Despite all that, I can't find the strength to get up.

Why you may ask?

Well, part of it is due to my exhaustion. Five hours of sleep just can't make up for running, getting into a fight, running some more and then riding with an unpredictable German mercenary in the rain. Not that I'm ready to deal with any of that right now.

Mainly, though, I choose to stay in bed just for the sake of… staying in bed. Because this is my bed. Or rather, what used to be my bed before Erhard carried me off.

I turn to my side, staring curiously at the ceiling. Trying to let everything sink in little by little. A strange feeling jars in my chest. I can't quite grasp it. There is a certain sense of familiarity, alright, but… that's about it. There's no longing. No wistfulness. No cosiness here. Instead, my room seems kind of empty and I wonder why it no more feels like my shelter. Is it my fault?

Hmm. Probably.

The only thing I'm thankful for is that at least I can hide. The mansion had been pretty much crowded the whole morning and let's just say that it was less than comfortable for me. The people Ichabod needed in order to see to Lady Van Tassel's body and others he did not… Those who were curious, who heard that she was dead and rushed to find out what happened. Ichabod couldn't send them away, of course. There was a lot of explaining that needed to be done.

I didn't venture downstairs. Not even once.

Judging by the manor's stillness, they're all probably gone now. But I still don't want to go out.

In case I stumble upon Katrina and her sore, curious glances. In case she starts asking questions. Questions even I can't answer right now. Questions that bug me, too, and I don't want to think about.

A sigh sinks its way through me. No matter how much I want to crawl under the bed and ignore the world, it's not right to stay in my room any longer. There are probably a lot of things that need to be done. Housework… A gripe of gloominess cuts through me as I remember that Sarah is dead, too. We were never close, but still, she's another unfortunate victim of Lady Van Tassel's lunacy.

I swing my legs over the bed, scrambling to escape my covers and the thought of a decapitated Sarah. My jaw clenches as I get up and shuffle towards the bathroom, aiming to take a bath and make myself somewhat presentable. Surprisingly, I manage that fairly well.

My legs feel heavy and unyielding as I move through the room, clearing it of my clutter, tidying it, picking out another dress… Yeah, this one's already wrinkled beyond hope.

I move carelessly, hurrying to get this over with. To get everything over with really so that I can just… I waver. Of all things cracked by the sight of my desk and the memory it teems with. The memory of Erhard holding me against it.

My throat strains to keep away the unexpected wave of tearful uncertainty.

Once more, I'm at a loss with him. Why did he disappear like that? Why did he leave no trace? Maybe it would have made sense, had he just taken off after confronting Mary, but he… he came back! He looked for me. So he must care, right? To do that…

_Are you running away again? _

Some sort of irrational annoyance spirals up inside me, before coming apart and leaving me cold and fearful. What if he's free now that his witch is gone? What if he has no place in this world anymore? What if he's… gone?

I shake the thought off. No. Certainly not. He would have let me know, right? He would have told me when he came.

Wouldn't he?

I take a deep breath, turning around and heading for the door. I try to pretend that I don't ache. I just need to go. I need to clear my head and get outside before I make another half-assed excuse not to. If he wanted to go, he wanted to go. What can I do?

It's the last thought I allow myself before my mind trails off into blankness.

I make my way downstairs, taking a staunch turn to my left and heading towards the study. No one is here. Feigning purpose, I begin to tidy it. A meeting must have been held in the morning, judging by the many half-empty glasses that are scattered around and the heavy smell of smoke that lingers in the room, making it all the more stuffy.

Gathering as many glasses as I can carry, I make for the kitchen, all the while ignoring that giant ball of emotion that threatens to burst as I wander through the mansion. It feels like stepping back in time; like nothing has changed. And maybe nothing has. But some teeny tiny but nonetheless obnoxious voice in my head sassily asks me who am I kidding, pretending that I'm still the girl who knew not of the Horseman and the murdering plots surrounding him. Pretending that I'm still the girl who just tried her hardest to fit in.

I burst into the kitchen and leave the glasses on the table, intending to go back to the study and round up the rest of them.

I take a few steps, before glancing back at the kitchen. Something floods through me. I can't decide if it's cordiality or nervousness. Whatever it is, Katrina is standing by the counter, helping herself to some lunch. She looks up and turns around upon hearing me move, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

"Good day, Linda. I did not expect to see you up so soon." Her soft voice is tinged with a hint of anxiety. "How are you?"

I turn around, standing awkwardly where I stopped. "Uh… I'm a little… drowsy…", I mumble, taken aback. "But I'm alright."

Discomfort begins to poke at my stomach. Katrina continues to look at me calmly, but I can't help expecting her to explode in a fit of questions and disapproving statements. Shouldn't she be angry at me, wanting to keep me at a distance? After what she saw? Who I was with?

Instead, she gives me a polite nod. "I'm glad. Are you hungry?"

Hungry? My stomach has officially turned into a knot. And even though I haven't eaten anything since the Tree, I shake my head. "Where are the others?"

"Ichabod and young Masbath? At Doctor Lancaster's, I believe. They are making the arrangements for the… funeral." Her face darkens slightly, but she rushes to give me that warm look again. That's how she's always been. Calm. Composed. Tidied. Blonde, wavy hair tied in a rose ribbon, spilling onto her coral dress, every lock in perfect order. She's totally comfortable with her environment; a complete contradiction to the flavours of emotion and the random thoughts that always bounce ferociously in my head.

I wish I knew how she does it.

I try to return the kind look. "I'm… I'm sorry for your father. Ichabod told me Mary Archer… Well…"

She just nods. This time her polite smile is sadder, but she says nothing more.

Although I wish to offer her some comfort, I make a mental note not to pester her about that any further. She seems more content with grieving by herself.

She rests her hands on the counter and throws me a scrutinizing look. "I suppose settling back seems… strange."

I shrug uncomfortably, knowing well enough what is coming.

"It is all right. I promise no one means to bedevil you about what you endured." She gives me a careful dip of her head. "I understand."

Does she really? A lump forms in my throat. Ugh, this is more than I can cope with. How can she be so nice to me? How can she care about me after everything that has happened to her? After losing so much?

I hover stiffly by the table, wondering if I should sit down or scuttle back to the study.

Typical me, right? My first thought is always to run away.

I want to be better than that.

I hesitantly take a seat, unable to manage anything better that a fuzzy "Thank you."

Katrina takes a few seconds before forming her next words. "Linda, can I ask you something?" She looks at me directly. "Something… intimate." When she sees that I don't answer, she pads towards the table and sits next to me. I lightly rest my hand on top of hers and she looks at me amiably. "I consider you a very close friend of mine, do you know that?"

I can only nod.

"You can rest assured that this shall not change. I value our friendship dearly." She tilts her head, trying to catch sight of my expression as I keep mine lowered. "Last night… the Horseman…" I instantly look up at her. Yes, evidently I'm terrible at hiding my reactions these days. "…Why was he in your room?"

I open my mouth, intending to answer, then falter, dispirited. "Honestly? I don't know."

She doesn't seem content with my answer. I can't blame her. "I understand he had no intention of hurting you…?"

"No. Definitely not." It comes out curt. Abrupt. Laying bare my reluctance to have this talk.

She sighs faintly. "Linda, you have my word, whatever we say will stay between us. I have always trusted you and I would delight in having your trust in exchange."

"I trust you."

"Then speak to me. When I entered your room, I could not help but notice that you were quite… close." I swallow, as the image comes back to me. "…And upon hearing Ichabod mention the Hessian last night, you looked rather flustered."

To my extreme embarrassment, I actually feel colour prickle up through my cheeks. The sudden impulse to deny it all starts to take over. So what if I did? Nothing happened and he's gone and… it's over! But just thinking about last night brings an entire clump of emotions to the surface and I'm pretty sure that everything she must be expecting to hear is written plainly across my face.

I try to turn the tables. "Like the way you look when Ichabod is around?" Hah, yeah, I might have been away for a week, but I'm not blind.

A slight expression crosses her face and I begin to regret my stupid attempt to get back at her. It's not like she's talking to me to make me feel bad. "I'm sorry. It feels so difficult, it makes me grouchy."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. You've been nothing but good and helpful to me, since I've set foot here. The least I can do is make an effort to be polite."

That twist of lips appears again. "I have met uncouth people, Linda. You are not one of them. Besides, you are right. I would lie if I said that my heart does not belong to Ichabod Crane."

For some reason that makes me feel even smaller. It's so easy for her to admit her feelings while I can't even… I don't…

I sniff, trying to keep myself together. I'm not sure I want to keep this up.

"I do not mean to berate you. I will not.", she firmly states, urging me to open up.

And I do just that.

My heart throbs so frantically in my chest I wonder if I'm actually about to have a heart attack. Because that would be a great deliverance right now.

"I… he's… It's complicated. I wouldn't blame you if you assumed the worst about him. I did, too. Once."

"I do not assume any-"

"You do. I know you do. Everybody in this village does, as well. Look, it's okay. I'm not trying to coax you into believing he's a misunderstood hero or something. Most things he has gained a notoriety for are true. But he's not a mindless massacrer." I look at Katrina gravely. "Not at all."

She nods, puzzled. "So… From what Ichabod recounted he seized you and took you prisoner…?"

"Well… yes. That's the short story. What I told Crane…"

"And the… _long _story?"

"He thought…" I let out a glum sigh. "…he thought I was his witch. The one who used him. He was resolved to keep someone he could put the blame on close and, conveniently, I was the only one present when he regained his head. At first, he refused to listen to me. I guess he was enraged. Pushed too far. He _is _curt most of the time, anyway. But as the days went on, his mulishness started to give way and he let me talk to him. He…" I look up, trying to push back the heartache that gains ground as I speak. "It wasn't easy. He's changeable, rough, enigmatic… He can be so unreachable when he wants to and he surely is dangerous. But trust me when I say that he would never harm innocents like that. I've come to know him well enough to be sure of that. And he was… nice to me. In his own way. He never gave me the chance to figure him out, but I think deep inside he knew I was not the one to accuse."

Katrina's brows furrow in bemusement. "Yet he would not release you…"

"No. He would not. It's the part I haven't been able to chew over yet."

"So how did you flee?"

My cheeks burn red. "His… sword. It can open the gateway. I managed to reach it."

"I see. But…" her eyes widen, studying me. "…that does not explain why he was with you in your room last night."

"Oh. That." I cringe slightly, fully aware that I have no other option than to be forthright with her. "Katrina, you're the first person I'm saying this to. Probably the only one, as well." I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst. "Just before I escaped the Tree something… happened. Between us."

Okay, now she looks worried. "Something _bad?"_

"Yes. I mean, no! Well… yes… like… kind of… maybe…"

Oh God, can somebody please shoot me and put me out of my misery?

"Um… I'm afraid I'm not following you, Linda."

"Truth?" I huff some kind of sulky sigh. "He kissed me. And I didn't object. Quite the contrary, actually. So… I guess there are just some loose ends between us…"

I suddenly become intensely aware of the stupefaction in Katrina's expression, although she does make a decent effort to conceal it.

"So… you… the Horseman…"

My face turns even redder if that's possible. "We're not."

An ucomfortable amount of silence hangs between us. When she speaks her voice sounds painfully loud and clear to me, although her tone is actually mild and cautious.

"Linda?" I look down, startled to realize that her hands are as unsteady as mine. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Her question comes at me sharp like a knife. Although I've repeatedly struggled to sort out our fragile relationship, It's the first time the question is directly thrown my way. And I can't help it. After everything else, tears start running down my cheeks.

"I'm… I'm… I'm afraid so.", I wail between shuddery breaths and trickling tears. "I never thought this could happen. I don't know how… I… I…" My hand smudges over the downpour that cascades my face. "I can't explain it. What is it that they say? It might be that love is blind or something…"

"Love is not blind. Love sees thoroughly. It sees wholly. That is why it fancies to see less.", she shoots back pointedly.

Through the mess of my tears, I rear my head. "He's not a random manslaughterer, Katrina, I told you that."

Her expression softens, lips twisting in a heartening ghost of what could almost be a smile. "Yes, I know. And I am sorry."

"I just wish I knew what to do."

My hand is still lightly touching hers, resting on her lap. She slides her fingers round into my palm and gives it a gentle squeeze. The gesture is small and subtle, but nonetheless reassuring. For the first time I realize that she really feels for me. That she doesn't intend to judge me. And that no matter what she's seen in the past few months, no matter how difficult it is for her, she wants to trust and believe me.

"Do what your heart believes is right."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to xLunaAngelWarriorX, HessianLover99, Wicked Little, LilithMorte, ****noodle86, bleach102 and TheElegantFairie for their super-duper reviews! :) Aaand in response to a worried reader's review, nope, "The Crimson-eyed Snake" is far from over. We still have quite a long way to go! Also, seeing as things miiight be a little confusing due to the drastic changes in the movie's plot (aren't I shameless?), I'd like to make clear that Baltus Van Tassel was murdered by his own wife and not by the Horseman. Yes, apparently, I'm really concerned about preserving our dear mercenarys's honour. Heh. So, there you go. Till next time!  
><strong>


	22. To Meet Death Himself

_Baby, I'm a sociopath  
>Sweet serial killer<br>On the warpath  
>'Cause I love you just a little too much<em>

Serial Killer - Lana Del Rey

* * *

><p>What my heart believes is right?<p>

It's well over ten hours later, the sun has set and night is slithering in and I'm bound in my bed, unwilling to see a soul. Still trying to figure what is it that 'my heart believes is right'.

Yeah. The answer to that is not as clear as I would like it to be.

I watch the shadows sway up the walls until they become a thick plain of darkness. Until my eyes strain to distinguish the fuzzy shapes of the furniture around me. I listen until the sounds of the day and the bustling downstairs is replaced by muffling silence. Still thinking.

I try and think rationally about the current situation… and fail. Mainly because nothing that has happened between me and Erhard has made much sense. I try and tell myself that deciding to accept my feelings towards him makes no difference whatsoever. After all, me coming to terms with the tangle of my emotions doesn't change him, right? I didn't shun him neither did I try to stop him when he came back to my room and he _still _left.

Although like I told Katrina, he _is _unpredictable and stubborn and…

God, why am I even doing this? The Linda that came to Sleepy Hollow a few months ago, wouldn't even think about confronting such a dilemma. The Linda that lived here a few weeks ago would just be content to be back with her head and her friends safe. She wouldn't lust after the Horseman!

Yet I'm still restless and my mind is racing and my heart is pounding and I feel completely lost.

I look down the window, searching for some kind of clue, a sign that would conveniently make this decision for me. There's nothing, though, just lightlessness and nature and houses with softly gleaming windows. After so many hours of soul-searching and reverie my sensible part pleads to be released and I begin to speculate listening to it. After all, it was my spontaneity who got me where I am now and look what has happened. Mess. Big mess. I mean, I know that I'm back and I'm free and Lady Van Tassel is dead and I don't have a decent excuse so as to persistently keep my distance but… Hell, at least my rationality has a direct answer for me: Stay put. The Hessian is dangerous. Everyone is afraid of him. Even Katrina thinks I shouldn't be close to him even if she didn't say so openly. So that's it. I shouldn't think too much about it. It was just a petty infatuation. I'll get over it.

Yeah. Maybe if I say it often enough, I'll start to believe it.

Then I remember the icy fieriness in his eyes as he leant close, to tell me in his rough way that he couldn't let go of me, mere seconds before kissing me and every nerve in my body feels so tingly that I almost shiver.

Sigh. I wish I understood myself.

The heel of my hand lightly taps at my forhead as my evidently not-too-stable brain begs me to give up.

Then without warning, I launch out of bed put on a random pair of pumps and a cloak and rush out.

I'll go back to the woods. Just to make sure Erhard is still… there. Maybe try to finally have an unabridged conversation with him, too? There are things that need to be cleared up…

The silence of the mansion causes me to tense up. Everyone must be asleep, I realize. Not that it matters really. I'm a natural at this. Heh.

What? Everyone has a talent!

Though you'd think that after falling into a time portal I'd get my lesson about sneaking out and-

Oh. I'm out.

That was easier than expected.

I walk really fast towards the town, faintly worried about the possibility of Ichabod or Katrina spotting me, until the mansion seems like a teensy-weensy dollhouse in the distance.

The village is all peace and quiet tonight. Most people are already sleeping I guess, tucked up in their warm covers, finally able to sleep without concern. Maybe some of them are eating. Or huddling by the fireplace with their families, telling stories and relishing in their togetherness. A puff of envy and longing coils somewhere in my stomach at the thought.

I wish I could see my family again.

I wrap my cloak a little tighter around me and pull on my hood, unwilling to let this turn into a pity party. My fingers feel somewhat numb in the hard cold, breath clouding like a veil of smoke in front of my face and I begin to regret my decision to venture out. I mean, I'm still in the village and it's too hard for me to see in the thick darkness. I should have at least brought a lantern or something. Maybe I should go back and take one… or leave this for another day. I don't even know where Erhard is or if he's…

No. Just no. I'm going to do this. Whatever _this _is.

I blink into the night, trying in vain to keep away the sharp iciness of February. My knees feel stiff as I cross the wooden bridge, steps echoing louder than normal in the calm of the night. The cold gets worse as I approach the forest, the bleak shadows swallowing the stony shapes of houses in their dim wake. At least the sky is clear tonight with its stars glimmering like bitty glimpses of bliss.

I wonder if I'll still be able to see them in the thickness of the Western Woods.

A faint, rustling noise somewhere behind me jolts me out of my thoughts. I look around me, eyes straining to see, but there seems to be nothing… Everything is eerily quiet.

It was probably the wind.

I allow my feet to take control again, yearning for the warmth of movement. I don't think about where I'm going. I've taken this cursed route so many times, it doesn't even register anymore. I dare say I even feel safer as I cross the very first trees of the woods, confident that no one could see-

I freeze in the darkness as something weighty lands on my shoulder, gripping it tight. Fear creeps down my spine. I can hear breathing behind me, steady and heavy, tinged with a suspicion of alcohol.

"A little late for a stroll, isn't it?", a croaky voice breathes in my ear, sultry and mocking.

I fight to slow down my raging heartbeat, stop my head from spinning. The hand that is still on my shoulder urges me to turn around, before moving slightly upwards and yanking my hood off.

Glen. One of the town's numerous brutes. I've never really liked him, but we got along in the rare occasions we met. In his mind, he was even polite to me.

What is reflected in his eyes now is a far cry from politeness.

Some sort of chaffing snicker rings uneasily through my ears. Another voice is heard in the distance behind him. And then another. And another.

Theodore, Glen's bosom buddy, is the first to emerge from the darkness, his hand keeping his hat from escaping his head as he jogs towards us. "Who is it?"

"Masbath", my captor huffs over his shoulder, before turning towards me again and adding a lower "Who else?"

I take a step backwards. He moves immediately and rushes to pull me towards him again.

"Easy there."

I try and keep my voice steady. Try to look causal. "Glen, what is this? What are you doing?"

His sly eyes narrow as he cracks a biting smile, amused by my bewilderment.

"I'm afraid you cannot go any further."

My throat goes dry. "I just heard something…", I swallow awkwardly "I was going to check if there was something there…"

"Perhaps you did not understand. You are going to stop right here."

I frown as I try to comprehend everything. "Fine. Ι… I'll just go back home…"

The grip on my shoulder tightens. "No. You will follow us."

The stench of alcohol that is released with his words tickles my nostrils and it's fairly annoying. I try to ignore it.

"Follow you… where?"

Another snicker. Oh man, I don't like this.

"You can quit pretending now, lass. We all know your little secret."

For a moment I stand flaccidly in his hold, unable to take account of what's happening. Theodore finally makes his way towards us and is soon followed by a pack of men, whose faces I recognize. They're all villagers; tall and bulky and strong.

And they're all carrying weapons.

Oh crap.

Glen's dark head turns towards Theodore. "Ride back and call for Reverend Steenwyck. Tell him we have arrested the witch."

Oh crap oh crap.

The words propel my mind into action. I make an attempt at pushing Glen with my free hand. "What are you talking about? What witch?"

The white of his teeth shows through the denseness of his black beard as he flashes me a sneer. "You may have gulled that idiot, Crane, but we are no fools. We all know it was _you.__"_

"What?" My voice comes out so shrieky that it takes him aback. I take advantage of this backsliding and free my arm. Try to take stock of the situation. "What is this about? The culprit was Mary Van Tassel and you know it! It's over."

"Was she really?" My arm doesn't stay free for long. "We saw you ride with that devil last night!"

Oh. A few thoughts reach me and sink home. The casualty with which Erhard rode through the town. The distress that clouded every other thought except the will to get back to the Van Tassel manor. My stupid carelessness.

I stare at them, eyes wide and hands trembling. "I'm afraid there is some kind of misunderstanding here…"

"Is there?", the words roll out hard and taunting, Glen's eyes narrowing into umber slits.

The tone snaps me back to my senses. I begin to search for a way out. Damn it, they are so many, brown coats and muddy boots, all blocking me.

I try not to let the fact overwhelm me. "Perhaps we should go talk to Crane. Try to sort this out…"

"Crane isn't going to save you this time, little wench." His eyes flare at me. "This is ending tonight."

Oh God. My adrenaline is pumping, as the meaning behind his words registers.

Are they intending to kill me?

"Just… let me explain…"

He drags me closer and spins me around, hands holding my arms firmly behind my back. "Explain yourself to God, once you meet Him."

Then he pushes me, urging me to start walking back towards the village.

My instincts kick in. I take a few steps obediently, hoping that the grip on my arms will loosen if he sees that I don't fight him. Sure enough, it works.

I strike when he least expects it, my elbow jabbing his stomach. Hard. He slightly stumbles and I turn around in a flash, punching his nose. He earns a nasal crunch and a mouthful of bloody spit, before my knee meets his groin and I snatch his gun from his pocket.

It all happens so quickly that the men around Glen don't have the chance to react. Not until I have taken a couple of steps back and my weapon is aimed towards them.

A snarl pierces through my ears. Glen is on the ground, curled up in pain. "Get the whore!"

Thankfully, the sight of the gun in my hands makes them hesitate. It's not enough to get me a ticket out of this mishmash though and I know it.

A beefy man slowly makes his way towards me, steps careful and arms raised in front of him, looking like he's hoping to calm me. The look in his wrinkled eyes is smug though, as if how can a petite girl like me be a threat to a horde of able men?

Damn. I should have at least paid attention to those self-defence classes in high school.

My hands are trembling as I palm the gun's handle, unable to get a firm grip on it. It feels heavy and cold and deadly and I start to wish I had never taken it. I wish it had never been invented.

I tardily notice that Reverend Steenwyck has joined the others along with Theodore and a couple of other men who, of course, are carrying rifles.

He steps forwards and starts approaching me as well, eyeing my gravely. "Enough have died already, child." His heavy voice is cold, condemning. "Come to confess your sins and ask God to forgive your trespasses."

"Please, let me go! I have not killed anyone!"

"Succumb and you shall be released from the dark spirit you have yielded to…"

It's like they're not even listening.

"I told you, I am not a witch!"

But they're not here to talk. Their steps are getting more and more aggressive as they approach. I belatedly realize that they're planning to encircle me.

"…For it is carnal death that will save your sou-"

He never gets to finish. He retches in shock, feet staggering and wig falling from his head with the force of the bullet that pierces his right arm.

Shit!

My eyes widen as I stare stupidly at the puff of smoke emerging from my gun's muzzle, unable to assess what happened. There's a momentary silence which rings so loud in my ears. I open my mouth, fighting to breathe but I… I can't, oh God I can't breathe! What just… I didn't mean… What did I…

I shot him. Oh God, I shot a priest.

And all hell breaks loose.

A shot rings out, shrieking as it blasts next to me. Glen's. A cry of alarm follows. Mine. Another shot.

Someone's.

I struggle to get a freaking grip. Tell myself there's nothing wrong with feeling scared and that if I want to live? I have to get away from them.

I take a deep breath and turn quick, hitching my skirts and preparing my somewhat numb legs to run. If only I was wearing my jeans right now.

The next to attempt to charge at me lets out an aggravated cry as my fist collides with his chin. A forceful blow, a well-aimed kick and he's out of the game.

It's not nearly enough though. They're just too many.

Two of them come at me and I cry out, twitching furiously to get out of their hold, thighs burning, teeth clenching, feet tangling with my dress. Auburn strands slither off the tightness of my bun, dripping with sweat and sticking to my face. The first hit that gets me has me spitting out blood, the next sends searing pain spreading through my rib.

Somehow, in the blur of fists and weapons, I manage to swipe another gun and briefly free myself as it finds its use. One dire shot. I aim for a leg, trying not to think too much about what I hit. Feet struggle to escape the hand that's clutching my ankle. Kick at it. Manage another couple of steps.

My eyes desperately scan the mess around me, searching for an escape route. Christ, I just want to go back home.

Another ones reaches for me. I grapple with him, giving it all I've got in order to elude him, but he's stronger. He grabs me roughly, trapping me in his hold and I can't move anymore.

The fury around me stops. They got me. An arm closes around me and something sharp and cold is pressed lightly against my throat, threatening to dig in. My pulse thuds violently through my ears. I swallow. The sharpness becomes hotter and all I can think is, just make it quick.

Through the thick cloak of panic, a realization seeps in. They have me, weak and stranded, unable to fight back. The knife that is held against my throat isn't cutting, though. It's held there, restraining me. But it's not cutting me. It doesn't hurt.

They're not even looking at me anymore.

Instead, their attention has turned towards the thick continuance of trees ahead of them.

Reverend Steenwyck turns to glare at me, face furious and hand holding his arm, where the bullet found him. "You have summoned him."

I frown. Confused. Trying to figure out what he means. The arm that's gripping me no longer has the strength to hold me and it slides down, knife disappearing from my view, letting go of me. My instincts are yelling at me, ordering me to run and I turn on my heel, preparing to take off, back to the safeness of-

Wait.

I come to a wobbly stop. Turn around. Slowly. A pounding sound. Echoing from the woods. Matching the furious rhythm of my heart. Getting louder.

For a moment I become one with them. I stand breathless, my arms laying limply at my sides, waiting.

Leaves stir up as the gallop becomes louder, closer, hotter. And I have no doubts about the source of it. No one has.

Daredevil soon emerges from the cold darkness of the woods, cantering fiercely towards us. A wrathful roar fills my ears and my eyes instantly focus on the towering figure of Erhard, sitting astride his imposing stallion.

Is he really here?

I close my eyes for a fiew brief seconds, testing the world, daring it to defy me and take him away. When I open them though, he's still here, black hair wild and spiked on end, lips parted, revealing two streaks of sharp teeth and eyes so wrathful and cruel that I couldn't possibly be making that up.

He makes my blood run cold.

"Do it! Do it now!"

I tear my eyes away from Erhard, belatedly realizing that the command was shouted to the man that was previously holding me at knifepoint by a very maddened Reverend Steenwyck.

I turn around to meet his face, examine his intentions. The senseless man that was seconds away from slitting my throat is gone though, and a mix of fear and uncertainty has etched itself across his face.

I push my advantage. Reverend Steenwyck barks out another order, but I've already slipped past him, teetering back towards the village.

A gunshot brings me to a stumbling halt. My heart judders to a stop.

"No!", I turn around instantly, taken aback by the sharpness of my own voice.

The bullet drills through Erhard's chest, throwing him off Daredevil.

Another shot clangs against a tree, triggering hot pain on my shoulder in its wake. That was too close. Shit, that was too close. One hand fumbles shakily for support on the bark next to me, the other one pressing against my forehead, trying to stop the world from swimming. But everything's moving. The sky is moving, swaying unnervingly. The ground is moving, spinning beneath my feet, making it difficult to stand upright. And Erhard is moving. Relief washes over me as he gets up, seemingly unaffected. He unsheathes his sword, twirling it in his hand, his face a twisted grimace of rage as he roars to them. He approaches, dark and feral and-

A hand grabs my wounded shoulder. Fingers dig in, eliciting a shriek of pain, pulling me backwards. I try to fight it, but my hands feel weak and feeble and they won't do what I want them to. Reverend Steenwyck's other hand grabs me by the throat, bashing my head against the rough trunk of the tree behind me.

A knife appears in my field of vision. "This is the last time you call your monster forth." His voice is ruthless, savage.

Everything is splotchy and wabbly. I don't want this. Pain stabs the back of my head, dribbling down all the way to the tips of my toes. God, I don't want this. Not like this.

My body tenses, pulse thickening through my ears as the icy blade pierces through my side, only to slide back out, once it has been coated with blood.

My blood.

Its rusty smell overwhelms me. Throat's so tight that I cannot scream. I cannot cry. I can only stare as Steenwyck steps back, watching me slide down. I can only watch as he realizes that the Hessian is coming for him. Late. Too late. A hateful cry, a thwack, and his headless body thumps on the muddy ground.

Erhard glances at me, the malice on his expression wilting. My eyes widen as I spot Theodore preparing to strike him from behind. He swears and turns around, throwing himself back into the battle.

My hands grip the tree, fingers cut and pricked by the trunk's splinters as I slowly stagger to my feet. My injury burns with the effort, numbing my legs. I clutch my wound and pain gets swallowed by fear as I notice the dark rivulets of blood that bloat between my knuckles, dripping off the edges of my fingers.

I try to ignore it. Try to control my feet again. My side screams with the first step I take, though, the taste of blood rising through my throat as I cough sloppily. Alright. No more walking.

I bite my tongue to avoid screaming as I slide back down. The cold and the roughness of the trunk behind me helps me keep my senses and I just stare right ahead. Still alive.

The slick sound of clashing metal grows frightingly near. Ripping through flesh, lopping off heads. There's snarling. Swearing. Growling.

Fighting.

My eyes stay fixed on Erhard, fighting to keep up with his maneuvers. There's blood, but he's fine. It's not his own. He's a flurry of movement among them, a yelling fury. He roars as he drives his blade into flesh, taking them one by one. Some of them draw away, cocking their rifles. His face twists as they shoot him, trying to take him down, but he keeps on fighting.

I've never seen him like this before. There's no barely contained anger here, no cold stoniness. Here he's a killing machine, pure wrath and bloodthirst.

And it's terrifying.

The pain begins to dull as my blood continues to ooze out, dazing me. Black circles begin to dance in my field of vision. I want to call out. I want to do something to stop him, to fix this. But my voice doesn't come out and no ones is paying attention to me anymore.

He doesn't give them the chance to.

Glen is the last one. He puts up a decent fight, all the while sidling towards me. But it's not good enough. With a flash, Erhard shoves his sword through his stomach. A guttural sound is all Glen manages before his knees hit the ground. Erhard twirls his sword, before slicing off his head with one clean strike.

I close my eyes and turn my head the other way as the headless body lands limply next to me.

I think I'm going to be sick.

A gloved hand clasps my unharmed shoulder.

"Get up."

Actually, I know I'm going to be sick.

My instinct takes control and I wince, drawing away in acute panic. But he grunts at my reaction and I instantly regret it. Don't run from the beast. But what else can I do to defend myself?

I take a giddy breath, trying to clear my head. He saved me. It's Erhard. I know him, right?

Right?

"Linda, get up.", he says again. It's a command.

Fear strikes through me. I smother some sort of high-pitched sob. "I don't think I can."

He kneels in front of me, tracing the blood-soaked stain on my side. He removes his gauntlets and tears away the fabric of my dress where the knife found me. My breaths turn into tense pants and I begin to wriggle in fear, despite the screaming protests of the muscles in my side. I don't want this. I'm just too scared. I want him to go away. No, I don't. Shit, I can't think straight. He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't.

"I can't see to your wound when you move like that."

His icy eyes bore into mine and I cease my movements. His fingers touch the irritated skin around the cut and I clench my teeth.

"Scheiße.", I hear him utter and I know, just by his tone, that this isn't good.

My eyes close on their own accord. I ache. Everywhere. It's just too much.

Darkness begins to creep up the edges of my mind. And it's numbing. It's good.

There's an edge of worry and concern in Erhard's next words, one that I don't usually associate with him. "Stay with me, Schatz."

I want to. Really, I do. But I can't. It's becoming too damn hard.

He slips one arm around my waist, the other supporting my head. I open my eyes as I feel him heft me up, holding onto him. He looks taken aback by the sight of blood in my hair, a result from the hit against the tree.

My eyelids go heavy again. Hands feel too weak to keep curling into the sleeves of his shirt. I'm at home. His strong legs move fast towards Daredevil and he swears under his breath again.

I let myself simmer down in his warmth. Struggle not to give up. Not without a fight.

Just breathe.

I just have to keep breathing… Just breathe… Just keep…

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><p><strong>AN: Massive hugs and many thanks to TheElegantFairie, xLunaAngelWarriorx, HessianLover99, LilithMorthe, noodle86, Guest666 and Aznekoo for feeding my review monster! :)**


	23. After The Storm

**A/N: I'm really, really sorry it took me so long to update, but, frankly, sandy beaches, cocktails and honey tans can be rather... distracting. Heheh! B) So how has everyone's summer been so far? I'm currently in my grandma's house in the countryside and despite her awesome crepes, the eventful driving lessons with my dad and all the family fun time, I can't help feeling kinda sorta bored. Thank God I still have my awesome readers, right? Right? Anyone there?**

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><p><em>I need a lullaby<br>A kiss goodnight  
>Angel sweet love of my life<br>Oh, I need this_

My Skin - Natalie Merchant

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><p>The light showers me as I wake. It's lustrous, burning, sparkling even through my eyelids. As my mind sluggishly abandons the comforting darkness, it becomes more intense, triggering dull throbs of pain all over me. They grab me back to consciousness, hindering me from drifting back to the safety of nothingness.<p>

I try to swallow the bile, metallic taste in my throat, but it feels so raspy that I almost choke, panic beginning to claim my mind. What's happening? Where am I? What did I-

"Hush." A hand presses my head back against the bed. "You need to rest."

Fresh memories stab though my mind. Hands holding me down bring back fear. But there's a kind face hovering over me. Pale and sweet-tempered with long, blonde hair framing it. Katrina.

Why is she here?

"Stay calm. You're safe now."

Safe? My mind spins the word around, struggling to grasp it, but it seems to have lost its meaning. I don't know what safe is. I'm scared; untrusting; weakly keeping my mind from wandering to places I don't want it.

I let my eyes stagger about the space around me. I'm in my room, I realize, tucked under heavy layers of blankets.

"What happened?" The distress in my throaty voice takes me by surprise.

Katrina looks up from the cup she's holding, her wide eyes growing the size of dinner plates, scrutinizing me. "You don't remember?"

"I'm not sure I want to."

Her expression softens, the look in her eyes so sad, it grows akin to pity. The realization only manages to make me feel more insecure. _Poor thing, she doesn't get it. _

Almost as soon as it appears, though, she rushes to conceal it, lurching forwards to leave the cup on the bedside table and avoid my questioning gaze.

"A pack of villagers attacked you last night." My memory jerks and twitches as she speaks, bringing back the dire experience with a rush. I struggle to stay composed, only now noticing the dull burning in my side.

"I… I'm hurt, I… He… Reverend Steenwyck…"

Her fingers gently squeeze my hand, trying to soothe me. "He stabbed you, I know."

No, she doesn't. How could she possibly know? She wasn't there! She didn't…

My fingers curl into the sheets as a certain memory clings fiercely to me.

Oh. "Erhard?"

Katrina throws me a brief, puzzled look, before catching on. A slight expression crosses her face, but I can't really read it. "He's all right.", she reassures me. "He brought you home."

I fight the images that come flooding back. Try to steady my breath, but instead stop it altogether.

"Is he gone?"

She nods lightly, uncertainty twisting the edges of her lips. "He could not stay after the sunrise."

I frown in incredulity, momentarily ignoring Katrina's request and sitting up. "You mean he…?''

"He watched over you until dawn, yes." An almost teasing spark flickers in her eyes. "…Much to Ichabod's dismay."

Shock washes over me like a bucket of icy water. "Ichabod saw him?!"

"Why, of course he saw him. Everyone did. The man nearly tore the door down. Alas; their encounter was rather brief. Ichabod fainted before long."

What in the name of… ugh. My hands come up to palm my face. This is so, so wrong.

"There was not much I could do. The Hessian - Erhard… Well, he sternly refused to leave." Her hand lightly tugs at a golden lock of her hair, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "I will be honest with you, Linda, I did not wish for him to stay. Ichabod began to fret over it once he came around and would not leave his room. He looked… genuinely concerned, though."

I all but gape at Katrina. Erhard. Concerned.

"Did he… did he tell you?"

"Yes.", she seals her answer with a solemn nod. "I'm sure Ichabod will see to the bodies and sort this out. But, please, do not excite yourself. You're still weak."

I swallow the flurry in my stomach and rest my back against the iron frames of the bed, seriously questioning how Ichabod will manage to sort this one out. I stay quiet for a while, feeling too tired to do anything but stare at the wall ahead of me. Katrina picks up the cup again, carefully stirring the steamy liquid inside, the only sound being the soft clank of the spoon as it brushes the walls of the mug.

My side begins to ache again, outdoing the burning in my shoulder and the back of my head. I turn to look gravely at Katrina.

"How bad is it?"

"Hmm?"

"My wound. Is it serious?"

"it is not fatal."

I let out a faint sigh, feeling slightly calmer.

"Thanks to Erhard, that is."

The statement hits me like a slap across the face. I dip my head carefully, brows knitting in a frown as I struggle to hide my emotions. "What do you mean?"

She glances at me, that kind, unsure look that makes her seem so sage spreading across her face. "We were… unable to fetch a doctor.", she says softly. "Thankfully, he managed to stem the bleeding and clean the wound."

"Why?", I ask cautiously.

"Well, he does seem to honestly…"

"No.", I cut in, voice unsparing. "Why was there no doctor? What about Dr. Lancaster?"

For a long moment, Katrina hesitates, glancing away. When she turns to face me again, her lips are pressed together in determination. "He refused treatment."

"He refused…?" I scowl, trying not to cry as the reality of my position dawns on me. It wasn't just a pack of men. The entire village probably believes I'm a… a…

"Please, Linda, don't fret." She reaches out and takes my hands within her own, but the uncertainty in her voice is heard clear as a bell. "It is alright."

No, it's not. It's not alright. It's actually the complete opposite of alright and she knows it full well.

I hold back a couple of shuddery sighs, resting my head back on the pillow. Wishing that I could sink into it. The back of my head throbs with the thoughts that come biting and fast. Carelessness, misfortune, death, they jeer. Words I don't want to think about. Words that have been surrounding me since my arrival in Sleepy Hollow.

I try not to let them overwhelm me. I try to distance myself. Pretend it's not me lying wounded and frail in this bed. Pretend I'm not the girl who stumbles from one disaster to another. I'm just watching this from a safe distance, curious but emotionless.

Aren't I?

A bitter smile crawls across my face. I'd honestly laugh at myself if laughing didn't hurt so bad.

"_Nostradamus Mediamus… Milk of Mercy… In Media Nos Laudamas…"_

"Hmm?" I turn my head, startled by the unintelligible whispers. Katrina opens her eyes and gives me a soft, dazed smile before offering me the cup she's holding.

"Drink this."

I close my lips tight and frown at the whitish fluid in response.

"What is this?"

"It will restore you."

I give it a suspicious sniff and draw back. "Is it a… remedy?"

"I suppose you could call it that."

I stare at it a moment longer. It doesn't look bad, but… I don't know. "What is it made of?"

Katrina shoots me a pleading look. "Linda…"

"I'm not drinking it unless you tell me.", I put back brashly and, admittedly, a little childishly, as well.

She lets out a resigned sigh. "It consists of milk, herbs and a few drops of a crow's blood. Now, please…"

A mixture of shock and horror spreads across my expression. "A crow's blood?!"

"It's not…"

"A crow's _blood?"_

"Linda!"

"Now I'm definitely not drinking it!"

"Please, don't dwell on that. It will do you so much good. I can promise your wounds will heal swiftly."

Part of me wants to shield myself under my blankets and refuse to emerge until the beaker is out of view. Katrina's supplicating look is too much to ignore, though. I puff in defeat. "Alright…"

She wastes no time, probably afraid that I might change my mind. Picking up the mug, she firmly holds it to my lips and doesn't place it back on the bedside table until I've drained it and have fallen back on the pillow.

It doesn't take long for the elixir's effects to kick in. Just seconds, actually. A distinctive warmth heats my side, spreading all over my body, getting stronger. I heave for air, overwhelmed by the accelerated reaction. Moments later, the potion's power begins to subside and it is only then that I notice that Katrina is holding a cool compress against my forehead.

I try to catch my breath. "That was… strong."

She nods, smiling faintly. "I know. You should probably eat something."

My stomach turns at the thought of food. "I'm fine."

Katrina looks at me in indignation. "I very much doubt that, Linda.", she retorts in an uncommonly icy tone. "I have not seen you eat anything since your return. You're skin and bones!"

I bury my head under my covers, growing more grouchy with exhaustion. "I'm really _really _tired…"

"Which is exactly why you need to grab a bite. The remedy's effects are bold and your body must be strong enough to hold its own!"

Keeping my eyes open is becoming a struggle. "Can we talk about this later?" A massive yawn forces itself out, playing up my suggestion.

"I would rather we talked about it now. I'm sorry to say so, but you're being a baby and…"

"You sound so much like Ichabod…"

She abruptly stops herself with a huff, a mischievous spark colouring her voice. "Well then… On second thought, I cannot impel you. Call me in case you reconsider, though." She smiles, cosseting my hair. "I'll leave you to rest."

With that, she gets up and makes for the door, her skirts swishing behind her. I turn on my side slowly, my confused gaze following her retreating back. It's not long before my exhaustion prevails, though, dragging me back in a dark, heavy slumber.

* * *

><p>The second time I awaken, I notice the stillness. I lay motionless in the darkness, faintly surprised by the fact that I slept the entire day.<p>

Damn. I don't even know if you could call that _sleep. _It felt more like a coma.

My eyes graze over the shadows on the wall ahead of me, adjusting gradually to the duskiness. As consciousness returns I realize that my body hurts considerably less. It's not so much searing pain anymore as it is a dull ache in my side, whispering the horror that was last night.

Or the parts of it I was awake enough to see.

Ow.

My thoughts soon drift out of control again. I try to grasp them, concentrating on the easy things. Breathing; listening to the silence; gazing ahead.

To my surprise and utter horror, it takes me a while to notice the tall figure that is leaning against the wall in a corner.

Oh. Um… Shit?

Nice one, Linda. Is it really that hard to figure out how a pack of sturdy men managed to sneak up on you anymore?

I swallow back my panic, before it completely dissolves at the wave of recognition that washes over me.

It's Erhard. Oh my. He's staring at the floor, looking wearied and dour, arms crossed in front of his chest. I notice in surprise that his cloak, gauntlets and armour have been thrown unceremoniously on the desk and he's just in his pants and black shirt.

Did I say that my panic dissolved? Yeah, scratch that. It's hit me even harder than before, only this time it is accompanied by a heated blush, as well.

Too unsure of myself to do anything but stay quiet, I settle for watching him for a while. He hardly moves, his eyes remaining fixed on the wooden floor. He looks older somehow, even though it shouldn't be possible. It must be tiredness, I decide. Or maybe stress?

I swallow as I remember he was hurt, too. Shot, mainly. No one could get close enough to stab him. But he looks fine now, right? Even when he knelt In front of me to pick me up he was whole. And I don't think I would be able to forgive myself if he… if he got…

God, I can't even bring myself to think about it.

I roll over on my stomach and push myself against the mattress, trying to sit up and forget all about what happened. I'm not ready for _that _yet. The slight movement attracts Erhard's attention immediately and his head snaps up, a pair of blue eyes burning down at me.

I cease to move, arms stretched in front of me on the quilt, keeping me in a sitting position. Barely. He stares at me for a moment and pushes himself away from the wall. Then in a second, he's over at my side, the mattress giving way as he sits on the bed next to me.

His hands come up to cup my face, a deep crease forming between his dark brows as his eyes roam around my body, examining me.

I stare back at him in silence, utterly dumbstruck and utterly thrilled all at once.

A hint of relief plays across his features, before his unnerving frown deepens. Ι watch in silent astound as his breaths turn faster and shallower, as if he's fighting an inner battle. Had I not known him as well as I do I might have been completely clueless. But I do know him. And I can tell what's going on.

He's angry.

So angry, in fact, that he can hardly bottle it up.

His grip tightens slightly, fingers curling around my hair firmly, but not painfully. "You are completely mindless, do you know that?"

His voice comes out so hoarse and grave that my breath hitches in my throat. I stare back in confusion, struggling to read into his statement. Is that about getting attacked? Is he going to lecture me for snooping around in the village in the middle of the night? Or is it about the… Tree? Is he still mad about _that_? I know I'd be. Is he going to tell me off now that it's all said and done?

I look away, suddenly too sheepish to face him.

A hand trails down my chin, anchoring my head towards him.

"I ride back to the village to find you stabbed and at death's door", his eyes pierce right through my stomach and I have the sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what this is doing to me. "I do away with at least a dozen men and use everything I've learnt about treating wounds in the battlefield to keep you from bleeding to death. I spend the entire day confined in the shithole that is that Tree, pacing and counting the minutes until sunset, wondering if you're still alive. And when I finally return, the girl informs me you have decided to drive yourself into starvation.", his tone rises as he speaks until it turns into a growl. "Bist du komplett bescheuert?"

My eyes close on their own accord and I hate the tear that has the chance to leak out. I don't respond, I can't, because despite everything else my mind soars with that one thought. That he cares. He cares so much more than I give him credit for when all I do is act bratty and spoiled.

Then he leans closer, his familiar smell enveloping me. When he speaks his voice is hard and tense. "What the hell are you thinking?"

I… I don't know. I don't know. My fingers go to my face, wiping the evidence of my weakness. Cold and shaky. I wish I knew. I wish I hadn't dragged him and Katrina and Ichabod into this.

"Are you ignoring me now?"

My eyes immediately snap up. "No." Never that. I stare through my lashes, unable to reign all the emotion that pours into that one look. I think he sees something there, too, because his eyes briefly widen, his chest rising and falling more ardently. It's faint, but he's close. Close enough for me to see it and close enough for him to be unable to go cold on me again. Part of me wonders in some sick fascination if I really have that effect on him. The rest of me seems to have other ideas as I let my gaze focus on his lips.

Ideas that would probably make me blush in embarrassment under normal circumstances.

"Good.", he eventually whispers, drawing back reluctantly. "Because you're having dinner."

He leans forward before I have the chance to assess what he means and picks up a bowl and a spoon from the nightstand. "Open up."

I pull back immediately, my eyes widening at the idiocy of the situation. "What is this?"

"I don't know. You will tell me."

I frown, pretty much accepting my defeat. This is nothing like saying 'no' to Katrina. The man can't get no for an answer.

I nearly flinch as the realization hits me. This is probably why she 'relented' so easily.

Ugh. "You know, I'd never thought you and Katrina would team up to plot against me."

"Linda…", he warns, looking grim. "Don't test my patience. I am not your nanny…"

Okay, it's safe to say there's no winning in this. "Alright.", I comply, heedful of his sullen attitude.

He gets up and goes to settle on the desk chair, all the while keeping an eye on me. "All of it.", he bluntly states, pointing to my soup.

"All of it.", I repeat, a little tetchily.

"And if I find out that you're being difficult with your food again, I will make you regret it."

I swallow a mouthful of my soup and smile sweetly, reminding myself that chucking a pillow at him will most probably end badly.

For a while, neither of us speaks, the silence getting disturbed only by the soft clanks of my spoon.

It's only when I've finished my dinner that Erhard approaches the bed again, dragging his chair behind him and placing it next to me, before getting seated.

I glower at him, crossing my arms. "If you came to make sure I've eaten all my food I can guarantee you…"

I stop mid-sentence, unable to retain my little attitude. Instead, I find myself gazing guardedly into the magnetizing blue of his eyes as his fingers gently brush away the swish of hair that's dangling in front of my face.

"How are you feeling?" Despite the tenderness of his touch, his voice is gravelly and deep.

I slightly shift in my position, a pink tinge creeping through my cheeks at his closeness. "Um… good. Better. Katrina gave me something for my wounds and they don't hurt as much."

He nods, although he still looks grim; unconvinced.

I glance down at my nightdress, the memory of him on his knees in front of me blazing in my mind.

_Stay with me, Schatz._

But for the horror that was last night, that certain image makes me feel warm and secure. Grateful. My mind is filled with all the things I want to say to him, how much this means to me. The instant our eyes lock again, though, it all melts away, leaving me with a troubled look on my face.

He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side, prodding me to talk.

I wish I didn't have to say anything, really. I wish I could just throw my arms around his neck and hold onto him, pouring every ounce of my emotions into that embrace.

I can't bring myself to do it, though. I don't think I can even manage a coherent sentence right now, so I focus on giving him an unwavering look. "I want to… I mean… Thank you."

A small grunt escapes his lips, his eyes fixed on me intently, telling me there's something on his mind, too.

"So what were you doing outside in the middle of the night?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "I wanted to see you."

His eyes narrow in puzzlement. "See me?"

My eyebrows knit in a baffled frown. "Yeah…" Is that so wrong?

A cold, terrifying smirk spreads across his face at my words and I have to consciously keep myself from huddling backwards by instinct.

It's been so long and he can still daunt me like this.

"Strange…", he begins "…considering how keen on running away from me you were the last time."

Something inside me crumples at the reference of my escape. Is that what he thinks? That I want nothing to do with him?

My hands are trembling so I grip them together, fishing for something irrelevant to say. "So… what were _you _doing so close to the town?"

"I was coming for you." A dark gleam flickers in his eyes, his smirk stretching into a suggestive pointy-toothed smile.. "If I remember correctly, we had left some things… unfinished the night before."

Oh God. My face turns even redder. "That's… that's because you left." I point out, hating my voice for giving away my bitterness.

"You, more than anyone, know that I cannot stay away from the Tree after the sunrise."

I straighten the ruffled sheets on my lap, trying to avoid eye-contact. "I know, I just… I wasn't sure you'd want to come back after…" My hand tucks an auburn tuft behind my ear. "I wasn't even sure if you'd still be in the Tree or if you'd be gone now that the witch is dead."

"Well I'm still here, aren't I?"

He says it so carefully that my heart lurches in pain for him. _Not quite dead, not quite alive. Caught somewhere in between. _

The issue a strange one for both of us, he changes the subject. "Now do you intend to tell me why you almost got killed?"

I stay quiet for a while, unable to escape the thought of all the death surrounding me. The death all those men met by Erhard's blade.

Then eventually, softly. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does."

I glare faintly, hating his unfailing stubborness. "It's kind of ironic, really." I sigh in defeat. "They, too, thought I was the witch that governed you."

His look of smugness at forcing me to talk, is quickly replaced with surprise at my answer.

"They saw me on Daredevil with you the night I led you here. I suppose it's… understandable." I give him a shrug, try to act like it's okay. Even if I seriously don't believe it.

My effort doesn't seem to be nearly enough, though.

"It's harebrained", he retorts, his ugly temper flaring up again. "…and disgusting. They deserved much worse than what they got."

I nearly whoop, mortified by his crudeness. "Don't speak like that…"

"Are you sorry for them?"

I shake my head in confusion. "They were people…"

"They were witless cowards."

"Still, they had lives. They had families…"

He looks daggers at me, his sharp teeth showing through his partly open lips. "They tried to kill you."

"They didn't know any better!"

At that, his control slips. His strong arms are on my shoulders in an instant, drawing me close to him. "If I hadn't been there to stop them, they would have murdered you. Do not expect me to feel sorry for them.", the words hiss out of him, fingers curling into my shoulders. His eyes seem to glow brighter than ever, revealing all the bloodlust inside them. Inside him. "I will never allow something like this to happen to you, you hear me? They deserved that and more and I would do it over and over again. It was a real pleasure, ridding the world of those scums" He shakes me hard, as if thinking that he can actually shake his sense into me this way. "Verstanden?"

I stare wide-eyed, completely floored by his violent outburst, rushes of awe and fear racing through me. The fingers that press into my injured shoulder draw searing pain with their touch and I gasp, biting my lip so as not to scream.

He immediately realizes that he's hurting me and lets go, an unexpected look of regret crossing his face.

I glance at my shoulder, thinly startled to notice the dark, reddish stain that has blotted my nightgown. "Oh, shoot."

His eyes narrow in an unidentifiable expression, the crease between his dark eyebrows, so deep that it looks permanent. Carefully, he pulls down the blotched shoulder of my nightgown, revealing bare, pale skin, adorned with a thin, crimson streak.

The pale, wan light the moon casts on his face through the broad window, gives his eyes a strange glow as he stares intently at the bloody mark. His breaths turn into hollow pants, fingers bunching around the fabric of the gown.

I hear the deep breath he exhales. "I… I hurt you again."

Bewildered, I try to pull away. He doesn't let me. "It's nothing", I reassure him, my hand alredy inching towards the nightstand. "It's alright, I've left a handkerchief here somewhere…"

"No." His free hand has locked around my wrist in an instant, holding it down. I open my mouth to protest, but then shut it again, dumbfounded as he glances at me with eyes full of barely constrained vehemence.

The realization sends a kick of heated emotion to my stomach. He's…

He's aroused.

Oh. My heart lurches at the thought, my whole body going liquid with lust under his intoxicated gaze.

He swallows. Hard. Then there's a breathess moment as he lurches forward and I begin to realize what he wants to-

_Oh God. _

His mouth is on my shoulder, hot and gentle, sending heat all over me in delirious waves. A moan escapes my lips when his tongue begins to lap at the blood, stroking my skin slowly, setting me on fire. My eyes close on their own accord, head tilting to the side in a silent invitation. One he eagerly accepts. His lips migrate from my shoulder, moving upwards, planting languid kisses across my neck.

When he eventually pulls away, I feel like I'm free-falling backwards. Our eyes lock, just for a moment, before I feel his hands pull me close in a passionate kiss. His mouth engulfs mine, warm and eager, deepening. The first touch of his tongue against mine sends giddy desire surging through me, through him. I feel his hand slide round my hip, tightening, pressing me up against him, till I'm off the bed and on his lap. And then it's all touch and burning sensation, fingers curling into his shirt, undoing its buttons, playing with his weakening control. His lips slow down, moving away, then return more hungry than before, muffled grunts coming from the back of his throat, and I just reel with it, utterly and blissfully lost, my only thought being that, thankfully, nothing could ruin it this time.

When our lips part, I smile coyly at him, brushing my hair out of my face. Then I lean close again, caressing his chest, leaving small kisses on his cheeks, showing him I'm not going anywhere this time. He closes his eyes, his thin lips parting, and tightens the grip on my waist, urging me to face him. When I do, I notice that he's breathing heavily.

"Go back to sleep.", he orders, running a thumb over my lips.

"Hmm?" Okay, of all the things I expected to hear, I have to admit that this was the last one. Was it so bad for him that he doesn't-

"Before I begin to think that coming to bed with you is a good idea."

Oh wow. Alright, I think my heart nearly stopped.

Giving him a teasing smile I return to my bed and settle back on my squishy pillow. His hand comes to stroke my hair and I take it within my own, stifling a yawn. "Don't go.", I whisper, closing my eyes.

"I won't.", he reassures me, his voice gravelly, but calm.

And it's all I need to give into the calmative embrace of sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many many thanks to xLunaAngelWarriorx, HessianLover99, TheElegantFairie, noodle86, Guest666, amandasebesta.5 and Tanja2210 for reviewing! :)**


	24. Unexpected Comfort

_I love the way, the way you move  
>The way you walk inside the room<br>I wanna mess with you tonight  
>And see this life from different sides<em>

Waves - GAD

* * *

><p>"Why are you being so negative?"<p>

"Negative? _Negative?_He butchered thirteen men and left their corpses in open ground, most of them in pieces!", Ichabod shrieks, whipping around to look at me. He seems so stressed that I squirm uncomfortably in my bed, starting to feel ill at ease, as well.

We've been at this the entire afternoon.

"He saved my life!"

"He's a public menace!"

"He means no harm!"

"How can you say that?"

"I can, because I know him and I trust him."

"But he's dangerous!"

"Not for us!"

"He is a cold-blooded murderer!"

"You don't know him…"

"But he's… he's dead…"

"Technically he's not actually-"

"…he's hostile to everyone…"

"Okay, he's not exactly Prince Charming, but-"

"…and he puts his boots on your bed!"

I flinch backwards, throwing him a confused look.

He leans against the desk to collect himself, pulling a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and shakily wiping the drops of sweat on his forehead.

"I beg pardon. But why am I the only one who sees that to ward off any further peril we must retain a low profile?"

I throw off my covers and swing my legs over the edge, straightening my back. "We _are _retaining a low profile!"

"By accommodating the Headless Horseman in the Van Tassel manor, is that how?"

"He's not… headless."

"Is _that _your argument? He is an undead, sadistic murderer and yet neither you nor Katrina seem to understand that… that…" He wipes his eyebrow again, his hand almost convulsing. It actually looks kind of disconcerting…

Had my nerves not been nearly broken by the overextended bickering, I would have felt sorry for the man.

I cross my arms in front of my chest. "That _what?"_

"That he has no place in this house!", he finally squeals, his temper getting the best of him.

"Ichabod…" I get up, letting out a tired sigh. "He literally saved my life. If it weren't for him I would be dead now. Cut him some slack!"

He pushes himself away from the desk and clenches his jaw, fumbling for his wilting sense of authority. "If it weren't for him, a lot of people would _not _have been dead, Linda, but this is an entirely different subject. By taking him in you - _we _- are raising suspicions."

I snort some kind of bitter laugh at this. "Suspicions have already been raised, Crane. Weapons, too."

"Yet you continue to pay no mind to the danger his presence here entails."

"Do you really want to talk to me about danger? About monsters?", I raise my voice, stomping closer to him. "'Cause if you had no problem living under the same roof with Lady Van Tassel, I don't think you should feel threatened in any way, now."

Hιs lips press together to form a tight line. "Linda…", he says, deliberately controlled. "I only mean well."

"Yeah?", I ask, taking a step back. "Because the way I see it, you're just scared of him."

His head snaps up, a mortified look painted across his face. Ugh, and it sends a rush of guilt coursing through me. Great.

When he speaks again, his tone is considerably more hushed. "P-perhaps. _But _I also believe that he cannot be trusted. This… this man…"

"Erhard.", I cut in.

"Pardon?"

"His name is Erhard." I eye him, levelly, making sure my point has come across.

He breathes out sharply through his nose, as if resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. "I didn't deem introductions necessary.", His tone is disapproving of all things. Almost disgusted, actually. God, I hate that!

I cross my arms, my guilt and embarrassment temporarily smothered by annoyance. "Well, they should be." He's not an animal, damn it!

Awkward silence follows my statement. Ichabod takes a step closer, his brows knitting into a frown. I study his face; see him coming to a hundred conclusions by the narrowing of his eyes alone. Yeah… It doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's thinking.

He rises to his full height, looking more than a little uncomfortable. "Ah… Pardon me; I hadn't realized the nature of your relationship was so… intimate. I suppose it was rather foolish of me."

He hadn't realized…?

Uh-oh…

Um. Let's just not go there.

It's okay, Linda, just shrug it off. Pretend smoothly that you're careless and breezy about it and that to you Erhard is nothing but a simple acquaintance. Yeah. And make it a distant one. See? It's not that-

"What do you mean by intimate…?"

WHAT WHAT WHAT? No!

"I understand you are… rather… fond of him, so to speak." Oh Christ, at least he has the decency to look uneasy.

Maybe there's still hope?

"He's a friend…"

He throws me a look. "A _friend?" _

I stiffen, fixing my gaze on a random spot on the floor, hands resting awkwardly on my hips ."Yes", I mutter almost in a whisper, but I might as well have said the opposite, judging by his mortified look.

I'm busted, man. So busted.

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a sharp knife. His dark, piercing eyes remain steadily glued on me. I avert his gaze, struggle to discourage him from delving any deeper, but I can't help feeling like the words 'Yes, I made out with the Horseman and it was hot' are written across my forehead, flashing in neon lights.

Eventually, he steps backwards, allowing me some private space. His chest sinks with the sigh he exhales, like the fight has drained out of him. "I see.", is all he says, nodding slowly.

I press my clammy palm against my forehead; try to shut him out and think clearly. I wish it wasn't embarrassment that throttles me, but it is and I know it makes no sense, because I don't regret last night in the least. I just know I never wanted anything more than this, no matter how strange it may seem.

I hesitate for a moment as he turns for the door. Sniff as I wipe my face with my sleeve, before I get in his way with an ardent leap. He looks down at my smaller form, his expression cold and harsh.

I try not to let it overwhelm me. "I know it's complicated…"

"Complicated?", he squawks almost sarcastically. "I wouldn't put it that-"

"I know, I know. And you have every right to be mad. But none of this is Erhard's fault. It's mine."

He raises an eyebrow, but remains silent. I've got his attention.

"Think about it. I've been terribly careless one too many times. I have caused this, not him. Those men thought that I was a murderer, because I didn't bother to take precautions. And that, eventually, was what caused them to die."

"The _Horseman _was what caused them to die.", he points out sharply.

"But it happened because of _me! _I screwed up and it makes me sick with guilt, because I never wanted that! But at the same, time Erhard did what he did to save me and I can't help but feel grateful for that."

His glum look returns, wrinkling the space between his eyebrows. "He could have saved you without slaughtering them all", he gravely states, his voice barely over a whisper.

He ignores my dumbstruck state and passes me by, intending to leave.

"Ichabod…", I croak, sadness coloring my voice. "Can't he come here again?"

He whips around, slightly baffled. "I am not the master of this house and, therefore, I am in no place to make such a decision. I have already spoken to Katrina, but my pleas have fallen upon deaf ears,"

And he's clearly sour about it.

"Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Where are you going?"

"The funeral is to be held today."

I can't help the bite of mortification that scolds me for forgetting that, I shoot Ichabod a hopeful look. "I want to come, too."

He gives me a sideways glance and open his mouth to answer, then closes it abruptly again, like it's not even worth the effort.

"Can I?" I press.

"Will you ever learn, Linda?" he snaps. Then he pulls a straining face, like he has to placate a child. "You should stay here and rest."

"I feel much better." I insist, already making my way towards the closet. "Really. I'll be ready in a few-"

"No."

I waver, thrown off by the amount of annoyance he managed to tie in one simple word, specks of understanding beginning to creep up the edges of my mind. "Why not?"

"Because!", he shrieks again, his patience already reaching its limits. He somehow manages to pull it together once more, though, and give me a rather stern look. "I should like to say, I thought you had finally learnt your lesson concerning foresight and would, at least, attempt to act more wisely from now on. Unfortunately, once again, you have defied all expectations. I do not know what to say, other than beg you to understand that your presence at the funeral is only going to add insult to injury. Both Katrina and I have done all we could to shield you, but the community has already grown spiteful. What is more, you stubbornly refuse to listen to me or try to redeem yourself!" He takes a pause, seemingly considering his next words. "If you wish to be with that butcher, then, by all means, continue seeing him. I cannot prevent you. All I ask you is to comprehend that, in this case, the people of Sleepy Hollow _will_ consider the two of you one and the same."

I choke on the tears that are rising, the knot in my stomach so tight, it hurts. And the confirmation that my position in this village is actually worse than that of a social pariah hurts even worse. All I wanted was to hear that things might just be okay, after all. That all the little hints I picked up on were nothing, just my imagination playing tricks on me. But it's true. They hate me, they really hate me and I can't do anything to fix this. How could I? I couldn't possibly screw up worse than I have.

"I'm sorry…" I fight back a sob, my voice twisting into a squeal. "I'm so sorry… I never meant for that to happen, I didn't!" I didn't… I didn't want those men dead! Not because of me…

"Then the least you can do is show some respect to the relatives of the deceased and remain here.", he says, his voice lenient, but grave. "We'll be back before dawn."

I nod, then look away, struggling to keep myself together. Gloominess floods through me, forming a painful lump in my throat and the fact that Ichabod is still standing here, watching me break makes it ten times worse.

Eventually, he does turn around. I don't see him leave. Instead, I walk thoughtlessly in the room, my wan rationality telling me I should probably pick my shawl from the floor, that I really need to make my bed. But I only make it as far as the wall by the door. My knees give way and I sink into the worn, wooden floor, my focus blurring over the peeling wall in front of me as my arms wrap my knees close to my chest.

Because I can't even begin trying to snap out of it. And I'm not sure I want to, anyway.

* * *

><p>It's over three hours later that I hear my door squeak open again.<p>

I can't find the willpower to turn my head. Some aloof part of me wonders why I always leave it unlocked for everyone. Maybe it's Ichabod; maybe he came to give me another well-deserved lecture. Maybe it's Katrina checking up on me, or even young Masbath. Maybe it's the villagers that came to take me away and hang me or whatever. Hell, they can have me.

But there's no greeting. No announcement. None of the things I don't want to deal with right now. Only a silent presence and a sharp twist that clenches in my chest.

I know without question that it's Erhard.

I sniff and rub the tears from my eyes before he can see me, hiding behind the auburn curtain of hair that covers my face.

He instantly spots me. I don't look at him, but I can hear him approach me; the tread of his boots, the rustle of fabric as he crouches in front of me. For a while he says nothing and, eventually, I look up at him curiously.

He reaches out, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. When he speaks, his raspy voice sends goosebumps up my spine. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

He waits for me to answer, but I never do. Instead the silence between us grows thicker and heavier than the room's darkness and neither of us seems interested in breaking it.

I close my eyes for a second. Gather the last remnants of strength left in me and…

…I don't even need to tell him what's troubling me.

He can read it all on my face, plain as day. I see it in his ominous frown.

"What's wrong?", he asks, seeking to confirm his suspicions.

I can't bring myself to tell him. Instead, I lower my head again, too flustered to face him.

His gloved hand moves immediately, firmly nudging my chin back up, till I'm forced to stare into the spine-chilling blue of his eyes. He raises a dark eyebrow, silently acknowledging the reason behind my moodiness. "I thought we settled that last night."

"Today was their funeral." It's meek; barely audible. But it's enough.

He slowly stands up, giving me his hand so he can drag me upwards, as well. I don't take it. Instead, I get back to my feet by myself, the muscles in my legs protesting sharply with the effort. I lean back against the wall. Feel the breath hitch in my throat as he comes closer, until I'm trapped in his warmth.

My eyes fix stubbornly at the buckle of his belt. But he doesn't intend to let me get away with it. "Look at me."

Well, it's not like I have any choice in the matter.

"I wouldn't bother with this again", he growls, clearly displeased. "but you seem to be drowning in it.."

I flinch at his words. Is it really that obvious?

"I will only say this once,. It is only the survivors that live long enough to feel guilt. I killed them, not you. Get over it."

There is a small pause before I speak. "But you don't feel guilty."

"I never doubted that I did the right thing.", he says gruffly. "I'd never let them take you away from me."

His words send furious heat up to my cheeks. He places his hands on the wall on either side of my head, caging me in, lowering his face slowly towards mine.

"But you could have spared their lives.", I chirp, grappling with the intense feeling his closeness triggers in my gut.

He sighs impatiently. "Yes, but I did not.", he retorts, irked at my interruption, before grabbing me by the waist and pulling me flush against him.

I'm suddenly very aware of every part of him and it almost makes me dizzy with desire. "And why didn't you?", I blubber again, my hands resting on his chest as if trying to push him. Not that it makes much of a difference. I know I'm being obnoxious, but I can't help it, even though he is now glaring at me.

"You know me well enough to answer this on your own, Linda. You know who I am. You know I would never let them get away with it."

Do I really? Honestly, I thought I did, but now I see a whole new side of him which I didn't even know existed. "But-"

He uses his own body to push me up against the wall, his hand getting hold of my hair. "No buts. End of discussion", he grunts, before kissing me, his lips pressing against my own, hungry and still unfamiliar, full of the promise of everything he wants, everything that could happen between us. When he pulls away, I feel like I'm teetering at the edge of my control.

God I want him.

"I spoke with Ichabod, today.", I say, desperate to break the silence. Well, _he _spoke, but it's not like I'm telling Erhard that. At least not until I'm sure he is in no mood for gutting anyone.

He gives me a baffled look. "Ichabod…?"

"The constable. You've seen him."

His lips quirk upwards in a scornful smirk. Evidently, the feelings those two share are mutual. "Und…?", he prods, his expression one of mocking amusement.

I try and act like I don't notice it. "He's not happy about you spending the nights here."

"Es ist mir egal.", he throws casually, utterly unconcerned.

"I'm more than unwanted in Sleepy Hollow." I force the muscles in my face to move. It's not exactly a smile, but it is a good attempt at one. "He thinks your presence here makes my position worse."

"And what do _you _think?", he spouts, his eyes scrutinizing my expression.

"I just wish you didn't have to leave every morning.", I reply with a shrug, and it comes out naturally.

He lets out a small sigh, but even if he's relieved by my answer, he doesn't show it. "Judging by what you say, leaving the house unprotected is dangerous."

Don't I know? I can hardly venture out of it.

"He's also quite displeased with the fact that we are…" I shift backwards uncomfortably, as if sinking into the wall is going to help. "…you know…", I try a pleading look, accompanied with a careful dip of my head.

His eyes narrow, two streaks of sharp teeth flashing at me in a sly smile. "Do I?"

I glance at my skirts for moral support. "Well… sort of… together…"

"And what gave him that idea?"

I know, right? That's what I… Wait… um. Okay, what?

The fluttering in my stomach briefly dies down and my enthusiasm about him being here is suddenly kind of muddled. Not that I ever expected him to shout it from the rooftop or anything; I know words are not really his thing. It's just… _Some _recognition here wouldn't hurt. I didn't make up last night, did I?

I give my best shot at incorporating the confusion and the general 'what the hell-ness' I'm feeling into a single look.

He ignores it completely and heads towards the desk. In about a minute, oblivious to my befuddled state and awkward silence, he has removed his gloves, tattered cape and armor, thrown them off-handedly on the desk, as if he were in his own home, and is approaching me again.

I stare, trying not to show any reaction, temper tantrums have never done me much good with him, and also not linger much on how good his toned chest and long legs look from where I'm standing.

I fail at both.

He's yummy and what the hell was that about?

Okay, maybe he's just wondering how Ichabod could be so sure about it. That's fair enough, right? I'm asking myself the same question.

Then again, that doesn't explain that smug expression he's wearing or the twinkle in his eye and-

Ohhh, so he's toying with me. The bastard.

He leans close again, his lips tickling the crook of neck, his nose buried in my hair as his hand runs over the curve of my hip, moving downwards, further than it probably should go. His breath caresses the side of my face as he moves his mouth up towards mine…

…_But_ no, sir. It's only fair that you try a taste of your own medicine.

I quickly stoop without warning, escaping his embrace. He shoots me a vexed look, but I pretend not to notice, turning my back on him and putting some distance between us.

A smile spreads across my face at the rough growl my move earns me. Not going to make it easy for you, hon. I give him a cocky look over my shoulder, but the smooth effect gets completely ruined as I jump a mile, realizing that he's suddenly right behind me.

"Playing games, Schatz?"

The way he says it makes my skin burn. My resolve threatens to crumble and I give it my all to keep it together. "You…". I swallow, trying to reign in my raging heartbeats. "You have the tendency to corner me, do you know that?"

His hand slides round my front, fitting me up against him. Then it moves upwards, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. "And you have the tendency to run away from me", he growls softly, making my spine shiver. "…so I suppose it's allowed."

His fingers stroke my side, lightly touching the almost healed wound and I begin to pant for air. God, it's hard to speak when he does that. "It's not… not… decent, though."

I feel his chest shake as he chuckles at my stuttering. "If you want a decent man, then I'm not the one you're looking for."

"Don't say that.", I cut in, firmly.

"Say what?"

"That you're not who I'm looking for." I turn around to look at him and my next words take even me by surprise. "I don't want to go back to pretending we don't even see each other."

"Believe me, Schöne,", he whispers, the humor in his voice replaced by something darker. "this is not where I intend to go with you. I thought I made it clear last night."

Okay, that makes me blush. Again.

There's no smile in his eyes when he fixes his gaze on me, just heat and hunger.

I struggle to hide the embarrassed smile that persistently tries to stretch across my face. "I was beginning to think that you didn't even remember that…"

"You were?" He steps closer, his voice suddenly hot in my ear. "And what if I told you I thought about it all day?"

Aaand my stomach has officially turned into mush,

"What if I told you I want to do it again?", he continues, breathing in the scent of my hair. "Because I've been thinking of you, pressed against me, opening my shirt. Been remembering all the times I had to keep myself under control around you. But you make it almost impossible."

Warm, liquid desire unfurls in my belly at his words. I swallow as he smirks wickedly, all the words melting away from my mind. I know I'm way in over my head, but, man, it feels so good.

His arms snake around my waist, keeping me in place, as he leans forward to-

Oh, come on! _Now? _

The door swings open, revealing a very confused and very embarrassed Katrina in its place. In less than two seconds I'm suddenly cold and Erhard is no longer holding me. He's standing stiffly over at my side, looking rather… murderous.

I clear my throat and smooth out the linen of my skirts, before throwing a high-pitched 'hey' at Katrina.

Her wide eyes scan the room in uncertainty. "Pardon my intrusion.", she says timidly. "I only came to check on you, Linda. I'm terribly sorry I wasn't able to see you all day."

"It's okay.", I reassure her, giving my best shot at a forced smile.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything…", she aims that at Erhard, clearly intimidated by his ireful demeanor.

"No, not at all.", I try to reassure her, though, judging by the pained look on her face, it doesn't help much.

She throws another fearful look at Erhard, before daring to actually step inside the room. "I won't stay long", she burbles, placing the beaker she's holding on the bedside table. "I just wanted to leave you your remedy."

I'd normally have second thoughts about drinking crow blood again, especially when I'm feeling almost as good as new, but I just can't bear the thought of making this even worse for her right now. "Thanks.", is all I say, glad to see her relax a little bit.

"How are you feeling?", she inquires, tilting her head slightly.

"Great!", I chirp. "Great. It's almost as if I was never hurt."

An unsure smile tugs at the edges of her lips. "I'm really glad to hear that. But let's not press our luck… Will you promise me that you'll sleep after drinking the potion?"

I give her a condescending shrug. "Okay, I promise."

She nods and heads for the door, before glancing once more at Erhard, who as of yet has not said anything. No matter how understanding she tries to be, it's plain as day that he still makes her extremely nervous. She opens her mouth, looking like she's about to tell him something, then closes it again, deciding against it. "Goodnight.", she, eventually, lisps before taking off, not even waiting for a reply.

So, that was brief. And awkward.

Both Erhard and I stand in an almost comical silence for a while, before my eyes land at the beaker that sits proudly atop the night table. "So, now what?", I eventually ask, looking at him quizzically.

"You heard her.", he retorts curtly. "You're drinking this", he indicates the mug "then you're going to bed. And don't make me say it twice."

Oh, so he's back to being his usual self. Good to know.

"But I wanted to see-", I begin to protest, but he gives me a look that shuts me up immediately.

Accepting my defeat, I turn towards the bed, but his hand locks around my wrist, stopping me. This time, when he looks at me, something softens in his expression, causing my sullenness to dissolve. "I'll be right here.", he whispers hoarsely and I find myself overjoyed by that simple promise.

After all, his mere presence gives me renewed strength to face whatever may come. It makes me feel like things might just work out for us in the end.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks and cupcakes to xLunaAngelWarriorx, TheElegantFairie, noodle86, Chesair, HessianLover99 and Guest666 for their amazing reviews!**


	25. Wedding Bells And Burning Desires

_Passion chokes the flower  
>Till she cries no more<br>Possessing all the beauty  
>Hungry still for<em> more

Silence - Delerium

* * *

><p>Alright, I'm actually slightly bored.<p>

Not to say that aimlessly wandering through the manor hallways is not a spine-tingling experience or anything, but, admittedly, after three full hours it does get old. Then there was Ichabod and his rather interesting research, but he's currently avoiding me like the plague, evidently deeming his experimentations with explosive chemicals safer than being around me. And no matter how entertaining and awesome my company can be, I guess my tousled hair, the fabulous nightgown I'm sporting and my overall dopey, out of it, just-got-out-bed look can only keep a thirteen year old boy like young Masbath amused for so long.

Meh. Men.

I stare out the parlor window, and watch the colors wake along with the rising sun. The late morning is my favorite time of the day, when the frail light of Sleepy Hollow shines its brightest, giving the false impression of a warm day. Thankful for the roaring flames of the hearth, I settle in one of the worn armchairs, sinking into its soft cushions. It's faded and shaped with years of use, but it's warm and comfortable and I tuck my feet underneath me, relishing in this rare moment of stillness and calm. I observe the space around me, quietly watch the chestnuts and coppers and hazels that warm up the room, the grains of dust that twirl mindlessly in the bleached sunrays that filter in through the thin curtains. I like it because it reminds me of home, although I would never tell anyone. Too precious a secret to share, I guess. There are things I want to keep close to my heart. Not that I'm unbearably that homesick anymore, but I get the occasional nostalgic bite, especially when I think of the dark turn things have taken around the town.

I scrub off the thought, before it begins to form into something dangerously saddening. No good in moping like a loser, as a certain stunning, anger management needing German I know would say. Maybe I need to find a job or something. Maybe go back to babysitting for Mrs. Brown, keep my mind from running amuck, as it's prone to do.

Of course, there are a few trivial details, like my inability to get out of the house or the fact that the whole village wishes to see me hanged…

Boy, am I loved.

At least I'm not alone in this. Tough times are not so tough when you're not alone. And I have Ichabod and Katrina and Jonathan who do all they can to help and shield me. I mean, they're practically what keeps me sane. That's a major plus, right? And Erhard…

Yeah, he's what keeps me hot and heavy. Heh.

The shy smile spreads across my face anew at the thought of him, a lustful jolt kicking through my stomach as my memory insists on replaying all our heated moments. I can still remember what he tastes like. For some reason I always thought that it would be something fierce and rough, but he tastes warm and male and so very real. God, is this really happening between us?

My lips still burn with the stinging bite of his teeth, answering my own question. I touch my mouth lightly as I grin again, feeling extremely nervous and extremely wonderful at the same time.

Eventually, I make the decision to take a bath and slip into something that hasn't been rumpled beyond hope from sleep. When that's done, I spend half an hour trying to cook some breakfast, because Katrina will probably have Erhard chop my head off if she finds out I didn't eat again. So I go for an omelet. Worse than ever, because I can't focus on a damn thing. I don't care, though. Ha! Not at all. Then I give dusting a good shot, but I end up breaking two bibelots and knocking over a cup of tea, because I'm clumsy as hell and today my mind is one big, buzzy ball of desirous glow.

Does he feel like this, too? I wonder what he's thinking of right now. Probably how he hates it in that Tree. Yeah, that would make sense. He's probably with Daredevil. Or maybe he's just lying in bed. Shirtless perhaps…? Yeah, that's an image I could stand to picture a little more often. Is he thinking of me? Is he glad to have me? Do I mean anything to him? Does he regret kissing me? Was it an accident? Will it happen again? Did I make the whole thing up in my head?

Seriously, I need to switch off my brain somehow. It's not normal to go all mushy when there's so much trouble seething in the village. I just hate so much the fact that he makes me feel like this. Alright, that's not true, at all, I actually love it. And, man, I really have to shut up.

I eventually manage something quite close to getting hold of myself and decide to tidy my closet, because there is absolutely nothing else to do other than die of boredom.

Is it still early? I abandon my currently half empty wardrobe and scurry back to the parlor to check the clock. Damn it! How is it only midday? Who slowed time down again?

"Linda?"

I almost jump a mile, unable to hold back a squeal of alarm. Christ, I'm feeling like Ichabod on a sugar high.

It's just Katrina, though, returning from the grocer's, her cheeks still rosy from the cold winter breeze. She smiles amiably at me as she takes off her jacket and gloves. "How are you today?", she cheerfully asks, going to rest on the settee.

I give her a goofy, unsure smile. "Oh, I'm… I'm fine. Crow blood's been doing wonders."

Her light giggle manages to help me relax and I take a seat next to her. Honestly, she's the only person whose mere presence is enough to make me loosen up.

"I'm glad to see you healthful", she says, her smile never vanishing. "It is miraculous, how swiftly you recovered,"

"I wouldn't have if it weren't for you, guys. I owe you big time."

She gestures for me to shush. "Nonsense. Isn't that what friends are for?"

That alone makes me go all hot and cold. It's true, friends look out for each other and, recently, I have been so caught up in my own problems that I haven't even considered how all of this is affecting the only people I can call friends.

The prickly hints of unease I pushed to the back of my mind begin to deepen. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Listen, I… I spoke with Ichabod yesterday and…I know I should have said this earlier, but I'm really sorry I put you through all this. I really want to do something to-"

"You need not do anything.", she interrupts me, with utter conviction. "Your position is quite difficult as it is."

"But Ichabod said-"

"Ichabod is too squeamish for his own good. He will compose himself over time. Still, I am of the same mind with him that you should not draw any attention under the given circumstances."

"Yes. Which is why he thinks Erhard shouldn't-"

"If Erhard is the man you chose to be with, it is not Ichabod's job to judge that decision."

Right, my thoughts exactly. "But he's just so upset that he comes here every night…"

"And how is that your fault? Or does he mistake the Horseman for a man keen on doing as he's told?" She tries to remain serious, but her voice gives her away. "Because if that is truly the case, I would _love_ to see Ichabod attempt to convince him to stay away!"

"Ha!", Okay, so that has me snorting in laughter. Arguing with Erhard is pretty much as efficient as arguing with a wall. Trust me. I've been there more times than my nervous system could probably handle.

She gives me what passes as a mischievous look, content that her point has come across and the iron band of guilt around my chest begins to unclasp. It's not completely gone, but it's manageable. Lax. And I kind of like that. It feels okay, I decide. So I sit back and stretch my legs. "I don't think he would manage to stay vertical long enough to get to the convincing part."

She giggles lightheartedly, sharing with me a look of slight guilt at making fun of him.

"You look happy.", I note, staring at her quizzically.

She fights to keep her lips from stretching into a full grin again, fixing her gaze on the white gloves she has placed in her lap. "I do?"

"Yeah…" I cross my arms, aiming to get at bottom of the mystery. "Almost glowing actually. Does it have to do with what you were so excited to tell me last night?"

"Last night?" Her head snaps up immediately and no matter how hard she tries to disguise it, we both know she's busted.

"You know, when you burst in my room. Or do you seriously expect me to believe you just wanted to check on me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Nope. Feigning innocence is not really her forte.

"I don't know… Perhaps 'cause you _always _knock and you _never _come when Erhard's around…"

"Oh…" She shuffles her feet a little bit, trying to hide the embarrassment. "I'm terribly sorry about that, I should have-"

"Whatever." I lurch forward, resting my chin on my hands. "I'm listening."

"Persistent, aren't you?" The warm smile lights up her face anew. "Well… I was planning to tell you at dinner. More than anything so that I could apprehend it first. But seeing as you insist…" She takes my hands into hers and looks at me radiantly. "Ichabod proposed to me."

_What?!_

It takes me a moment to grasp it and when I finally do I can't help the hysterical squeal that squeezes its way out of the back of my throat. "Oh my God! Oh my God I can't believe this! It's… it's…" Great. Amazing. Humongous. Prodigious! You name it, 'cause I can't! All I find myself able to do is smother Katrina in a massive hug while drunkenly repeating "I'm so happy, I'm so happy" like a broken record on crack. Which doesn't even make sense, but, hell, this is the best news I've heard in a long time so who gives a shit about coherent thoughts and all.

"When did it happen?", I finally manage to ask, still staring in open-mouthed shock.

"Yesterday, after we returned from the funeral. Oh, Linda, I'm so happy…"

"Of course you are!" I shrug, bringing my hands on my waist, unsure of what to say. I knew there was something going on between them, but I didn't suspect it was that serious. "So what… what did he tell you?"

She bites her lower lip and stares into space as if reliving it. "Well, I was sitting here at the parlor, trying to dismiss the whole funeral from my mind. He entered the room in that unsure, discreet way of his. Normally, it would not have befuddled me, but he remained awfully quiet for a long while. I was beginning to think that the events of the day were truly starting to flurry him when he looked up and said without a pause: 'Ms. Van Tassel, as you very well know my social status is not one to envy. I am neither the bravest nor the most capable man and I hardly have a penny to my name. However, I should like to say that nothing would make me happier than returning to my bleak duties with you by my side.'"

I can't help it. I begin to laugh. "And…?"

Katrina seems to be enjoying it as much as I do. "'Why', I said, 'Mr. Constable, that sounds considerably close to a proposal.' 'Indeed, it does', he firmly answered. "I was thinking that perhaps now that the case is solved and the murders have stopped… perhaps I should gather the courage to ask you to be my wife."

"And you said yes!"

"How could I not? I love him." Her voice wavers, full of emotion. I can actually see tears of joy brimming in her eyes. "He loves me, too, I know that. And now I'm going to be Mrs. Crane! Can you believe it?"

"Honestly? No!" I'd actually never think Crane could be capable of falling in love, let alone propose to a woman! "Does young Masbath know?"

"I'm almost certain that he was the one who talked him into asking me in marriage."

Yeah, that would make sense.

"So when will the wedding be held?"

"We have not considered a date yet." She gives me a shrug of her shoulders, probably going for careless, even though it's plain as day that she's head over heels excited. "I suppose shortly after we settle in."

"Settle in... where?"

"Ah… That was one more reason why I wanted to discuss it with you over dinner." She turns her face to the window, her fingers coming up to tangle nervously with a golden lock of her hair. "We decided that moving to New York would be our best option. Ichabod already owns a house that his pay allows him to sustain without difficulty, although I hope I will be able to contribute by selling my remedies. He also thinks the city will greatly benefit young Masbath's education and offer him the opportunity to become more than a simple farmer. He really has made him his apprentice – isn't it wonderful, how he cares for the poor boy? And you Linda…" She briefly pauses to look at me, her forehead puckering in an expression of concern. "You can hardly stay here for long and I would love to have you close to me. And I'm certain young Masbath feels the same way, as well."

I…. okay, so that's somewhat... weird. And it just came out of the blue, which makes it even weirder. They've already decided they're going to live in New York? And Katrina wants me to tag along?

Okay, judging by the hopeful look in her eyes she's actually _expecting_ me to move with them. Which makes this even more uncomfortable for me.

And it only gets worse the moment she asks me "You would you like to come to the city, wouldn't you?"

I suddenly feel like lead is filling my stomach. "I… I…" No, not really. I don't want to lose what I found. Not now. Not when I've only just found it.

Then again, I know that there is no way I can stay in this house by myself. I know I cannot possibly stay in this goddamned village by myself. And I can only hide behind the four peeling walls of my room and expect others to look after me for so long.

Crap, it was always meant to come down to this. I should have seen it coming miles away.

A month ago I wouldn't have given it a second thought. But now…?

"Is this about Erhard?" Katrina's voice slices through the medley of my panic filled thoughts, light and clear. "You do not wish to leave him?" it is more of a statement than a question, but it's far from judgmental.

Dejection, embarrassment, uncertainty; they wash over me in heated waves, a lump forming in my throat as I nod softly. "I think I'm in love with him. I know it, actually."

She doesn't try to hide her discontent. She still looks kind, but sort of sad. "I understand. I do not mean to coerce you about anything."

"Staying here alone _is _too precarious, though, you're right about that."

"There's no need to fret." She leans forwards, smiling encouragingly. "We still have ample time ahead of us to concern ourselves with such issues. And I'm sure we will come up with a better solution to your problem, eventually. Perhaps, I shouldn't have unsettled you like this."

Something streams through me, warm and bright. Hope. Or at least something close to it.

"Okay.", I mumble, getting up and wriggling the life back to my toes. "Um, I'd better go upstairs. The entire content of my closet is hurled all over the room."

Katrina nods assertively. "Then I'll leave you to it."

I'm halfway out of the room when I hear her call my name again. I turn around and she silently regards me for a small moment. "I understand how you feel, which is why I will not insist on this, even if I believe it is the safest option. I know how it feels to think love is lost."

I smile coyly, dipping my head in acknowledgment. "I really appreciate that."

And at least for now, I decide to shove the matter in the back of my head.

* * *

><p>Dinner is quiet for the most part, save for the occasional question that gets thrown around. Everyone seems uncomfortable and reserved and the tense silence gets interrupted only by the sounds of clanking utensils.<p>

I try to pretend I don't notice that Ichabod avoids making eye contact with me, focusing on my plate instead. Roast beef, baked potatoes and lettuce salad, and I eat with great appetite, rejoicing in my first all-inclusive meal in many days.

To her credit, Katrina does make a few passable attempts at raising the spirits, by talking about safe, generic matters. The weather, the food, Ichabod accidentally setting the sleeves of young Masbath's coat on fire.

It doesn't really work.

The first to leave the table is Ichabod, his plate still piled up with his food. He chucks his napkin on the table, mutters a flimsy excuse and takes off, hauling his chair backwards as he quickly stands up.

And it all goes downhill from there. We finish our meal in sullen quietness, none of us verbally acknowledging the discomfort of the situation. I quietly help Katrina gather the dishes and even offer to do the washing, sending her to her bedroom and assuring her that I feel just fine.

No matter how much I try to busy myself, though, my thoughts keep flickering back at yesterday's argument. The shouting. The accusations. I tried to listen to Erhard, decided not to make much of it, but it's still there and it still stings. I know Ichabod and I never had much in common, There was always some awkward distance between us and we frequently squabbled about all the trivial things. But… shit, it was never like that. It never lasted. Deep down, I was always aware of the fact that I could count on him as a friend. I still am, seeing all the precautions he's trying to take to ensure my safety.

The thought wrests at me, far stronger than I thought it could. Glumness twined with regret. My keenness to assume the worst of his intensions. That he tried to reason with me, even after I called him a coward to his face.

But would a coward protect a fugitive? Would he fend for an outcast?

I think I'd better talk to him.

I grit my teeth, lips pressing into a flat line as I head by instinct to the one place I know I'll surely find him. The study.

It's already dark by the time I exit the kitchen, the shadows in the empty hallways, accenting my uneasy feeling in my gut. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure about how this is going to go down or what I'm supposed to say, but I still feel like it's the right thing to do.

I reach up a hand and knock on the door.

"It's open.", calls Ichabod's thin voice.

I take a deep breath and quietly step inside, throwing an unsure 'hey' his way. He looks up from his desk, his expression suggesting that I'm probably the last person he expected would come bother him at this time. He puts down his pen. "Linda…" His voice gives away his surprise. "Have… have a seat."

Right. Ichabod; always the gentleman.

I soundlessly settle on a chair opposite him, the air of calm in the room managing to soothe my nerves. My eyes briefly fall on the window, painted dark and misty with the promise of evening rain. There are a couple of candles on the desk around his book, glimmering off their glass cabinets and providing the room with light and coziness and as I sit back, I start to wonder what the hell it is I was so nervous about.

"What are you studying?", I lightly ask, noticing the open book in front of him.

He seems slightly thrown off by the scanty question. "Ah… Mathematics."

I nod in concede. "So, no more combustions for today?"

His hollow cheeks burn with a tinge of color at my comment. He looks down at his book, frowning in mortification. "It was… it was an accident."

Dude, relax. It was just a joke!

I sigh in defeat, deciding to attempt a different approach. "I heard about the proposal..."

At that, he perks up, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"I was really excited to hear the news", I continue, hoping _that _will help him chill out, at last. "I'm very happy about you, guys."

He looks at me for a moment, the wrinkle between his brows slowly smoothing out. "Thank you."

My lips quirk upwards, in a polite smile. That's better.

Even though I do a pretty good job at keeping my cool, the next words roll out of my tongue with some difficulty, "Katrina also suggested that I come with you to New York. She said you talked about it?"

"We did." He nods in confirmation, still grave, but calmer than before. "What was your answer?", he adds, staring at me almost expectantly.

I hesitate. Although I'm not sure why. Maybe because it is my last chance to move back to a safer subject. "…I told her I'd think about it." Okay, not entirely true, but I'd better not push it right now.

He's quiet for a second, his jaw working as a slight expression crosses his face. "I see."

He doesn't say anything else and I don't know how to read that. "I assume it was not the answer you expected?"

He clears his throat. "If I'm honest, I had hoped you would concur."

"It's a little complicated."

"Of course.", he murmurs, dragging his gaze back to his book. "Is it complicated because of the Hessian?", he asks a second later, his tone somewhat tetchy.

I arch my eyebrows, giving him an awkward, pleading look. He remains quiet, though.

Stubbornly so.

Fine, then. Out with it, it is. "Yes, the truth is that I don't want to lose Erhard.", I tentatively answer, silently praying that it won't push him over the edge.

He shakes his head. "I still cannot believe you-"

"Ichabod, come on…", I implore him, head tilting to the side. "I did not come here to have another face-off with you."

"But-"

"Please? Can't we just leave that aside?"

He sucks his cheeks, trying to stop himself. "As you wish."

"Good. 'Cause I actually wanted to patch things up."

A perplexed, suspicious look is thrown my way. "Patch… up?"

"Yes." I shrug. "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. It's just... You said things and I said things. Things I didn't mean…" He doesn't say anything, so I decide to go on. "I know that right now I'm just trouble and I know that you're not comfortable with Erhard being here. I really appreciate all your help and I'm not going to try and change your mind, okay? I just don't want this to come between us."

He sighs, looking away thoughtfully. Then, eventually "I do not see you as trouble, Linda. What vexes me is your reluctance to see about your safety. You need to understand. You are not Katrina Van Tassel. You might be friends, but your position bears little resemblance to hers. Those people are not going to be generous with you . They are not going to be accepting. She fails to see that."

I lean forwards, casting a rueful frown. "If you're worried about Katrina's safety, I promise you I do not intend to put anyone in danger. I can leave the house if you want. I will-"

His hand grabs my wrist. "I am not worried about Katrina", he cuts in, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. I stare at it, startled by the rare show of closeness on his part. "I am worried about you. As your friend."

I'm not sure what to say to that. It's not like him to be so open, which makes this even more valuable to me. I just smile kindly, showing him I understand. And I really appreciate this.

I guess it means we're okay?

A sudden, abrupt knock on the front door snaps me out of my thoughts. My heart rate instantly goes up, tension pulsing through every part of me. There is only one person I know that would knock like this,

I blast off my seat. "I'll get it!"

"Linda, wait! This might be dangerous!"

But I'm already darting through the hallway, excitement knotting in my stomach as the knocks gradually turn into forceful pounds. Yep, no doubt about who it is, whatsoever.

I can sense Ichabod lope right behind me as I bounce the door open to greet a very brusque looking Hessian, complete with crazy hair and ominous scowl. Hear him shout "Linda, are you completely insane?" milliseconds before I get shoved in the nearest wall by said Hessian, who apparently deems this the right moment to knock my breath away in a fervent kiss.

Damn, but it's good.

And completely inappropriate, judging by Ichabod's appalled, wide-eyed expression?

…This is shaping up to be extremely awkward.

"So, um…", I begin, casting a nervous glance at Ichabod, whose face seems to have frozen in an expression of slight shock, and taking a step forward so that I'm standing between them. "I trust the two of you have met each other before?" Yeah, I was never one for tact.

"Several times.", Ichabod utters, the color draining completely from his face as he locks eyes with Erhard. To his credit, however, he does approach him and hesitantly offers him his hand. "Constable Ichabod Crane…"

To my complete and utter horror, Erhard remains absolutely untouched by Ichabod's attempt at amity. He just glares down at him, like a panther sizing up his prey. And I'd probably consider it really bad-ass if it weren't for the fact that poor Ichabod seems to be on the verge of passing out.

Oh God, this is painful to watch.

"Okay, so maybe we should just go upstairs…", I chime in, tugging at Erhard's arm. Thankfully, he seems willing to come with me. "Goodnight, Ichabod."

"Goodnight, Linda.", he replies, casting a deep frown, before turning away.

Erhard tags along as I clamber the staircase in silence, making a mental note to kill him once we make it to my room. Which, okay, shouldn't really be possible. Killing him, not getting to my room. And it's a shame, really, because I'm so annoyed at what he did, I could just-

Okay. We're there.

I make sure to shoot him the best 'I'm-so-mad-at-you' look I can pull off as I shut the door closed behind me. Cross my arms in front of my chest for better effect, too, as I lean back against the wooden surface.

Getting the hint, he pauses in his stride to turn around and look at me.

"What the hell was that about?"

He just raises an eyebrow, throwing his gloves on the chair. "I don't like him."

"That doesn't mean you have to be rude!" I shake my head. "You scared him stiff!"

"He doesn't seem like a man hard to frighten." He narrows his eyes at me. "Need I go and apologize?"

I push myself away from the door. "Maybe, before you leave in the morning..."

The corners of his mouth quirk a little at my words. Despite my hardest efforts, that half-smile tromps all over my annoyance and sends a gush of heat all over my body, my stomach knotting with all the possible scenarios of what could happen between now and then.

He looks at me for a long time, his eyes piercing through my stomach. I like it, I realize, even though it makes me feel extremely self-conscious. Then, his spurs ring as as he approaches me, coming to stand so close that I nearly forget how to breathe. "You seem to have recovered.", he observes, casting a small frown.

I tuck a strand of hair nervously behind my ear, fixing my gaze at my feet. "I have."

"Do you eat well?"

"Yeah."

"Your side… Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Your shoulder?"

"Nope."

"And what about the headaches?"

"They've stopped."

Okay, maybe not one of the most intellectual conversations, but my usually hyperactive brain has the tendency to shut down when he's within kissing distance. Plus, the way his eyes are devouring me doesn't really put speaking to the forefront of my thoughts.

I look up at him through my lashes, chewing at my bottom lip as he runs two fingers through my hair, my stomach flipping as they accidentally brush over my neck.

I don't think I'll get used to the feeling his touch incites anytime soon.

"What's wrong?", he whispers, noticing my stillness.

"I missed you." The words blurt out of me, before I even think about them and I instantly regret my openness, almost expecting him to shun me.

Instead, his hand moves to the back of my head, tangling in my hair, anchoring my face towards his and he leans closer until his thin lips graze over mine and thinking no longer seems important. Or possible.

His hand trails down my back, pulling me closer till I'm firmly pressed against his solid body. I stand on my tiptoes, locking my arms around his neck, deepening it, tasting his tongue. But then he presses on and, with a muffled grunt, I feel him shift against me, lust building through him like he can't stop it. His body goes from gripping me to warm and impatient, chest rising and falling ardently as it all gets more intense. Hands exploring as he pushes me backwards; feet stumbling until I hit the desk and he fits me up against it, his mouth claiming mine, hard and fast and God I want more.

I can barely breathe, but I don't care. A hand reaches under my skirts, caressing its way up, gripping my thigh and wrapping it around his hip. My hair gets tousled as his fingers snarl in it, holding it tight, mouth kissing my face, trailing down my throat, craving and out of control. His hands move frantically, shoving the shoulders of my gown downwards, his lips and teeth and tongue running over the skin beneath as he pulls me towards him, fumbling for the laces of the dress on my back.

It's only then that I realize he wants to… he actually wants to…

"Erhard…s-stop", I moan, trying in vain to push him. "Stop."

He reluctantly pulls away, breathing as hard as I do. I throw my head against the wall, still delirious with sensation, struggling to catch my breath. "We… we can't."

Surprise registers in the furious sea of his eyes. "I'd say we most definitely can.", he growls between ragged pants, leaning in for another kiss.

"No, wait!", I exclaim, running a hand through my tousled hair. "I don't think we should…"

He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing me. "You haven't done this before?"

Well, okay, I haven't, but I think that's kind of paling into insignificance right now. Or at least it was before he mentioned it.

Is that a big deal, too?

He runs a thumb over my lips. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Oh Christ, I'm blushing in embarrassment so furiously I think I might permanently turn pink.

"It's not that, it's just…" I glance at the wall for moral support. "…I don't think we should do this in here."

He frowns. "In here?"

"Yeah, I mean…you know… Ichabod and Katrina and my nephew are in the house…"

"Your nephew?"

Okay, that was an inadequate choice of words. "Well, we're not really related, that's just what we told everyone when I settled here, y' know, back before… He's more like my kid brother actually, not so much-"

He frowns at me. "Linda…"

Right. "Off track, gotcha."

God, I'm so jittery.

His hand strokes my cheek as he lets his eyes bore into mine, never backing away. He doesn't say anything, though. He doesn't even move, even though he's so tense that I can see the veins loom on the side of his neck in the weak light. He just breathes, his face lingering so very close to mine. Just breathes and watches me, waiting for a sign.

I'm suddenly painfully aware of the awkwardness of our positions. I'm still wrapped around him like a… like… and the hand that's not cupping my cheek is still gripping my leg, his fingers digging into my skin, so hard that I think there will be bruises in the morning.

I sigh lightly. "We're not alone. It's too dangerous."

His nostrils flair at my answer. For a while, he looks like he's struggling to regain control, giving me that look that makes my stomach turn into mush, the only sound being the fast tap of the rain on the window. When he lets his hand trail down my neck, though, his touch is gentle.

"Is that alright?", I press, hesitantly.

He backs off a pace. Lets me slide my feet back to the floor. "Ja."

"I… Really?", I ask, throwing him a disbelieving look.

He lets out an impatient sigh. "I'm not going to rape you, Linda."

Uhh, alright, is it wrong that this brings a whole heap of lustful images at the forefront of my mind?

I stare tentatively at my feet, trying to reign the bombardment of emotions in my chest. Fishing inside my head for something irrelevant and sensible to say.

"So, uh…" my hands move to my rumpled skirts, nervously smoothing them out. "Would you like to lie down or something?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"To bed, I mean…" Right, much better now. Well done, brain.

"With you?", he asks, intrigued.

The embarrassing implication of what I just suggested dawns on me like a bucket of icy water. I rest my hands on my hips, awkwardly. "Well yeah… I mean… Lie _only_. As in rest."

He smiles coldly, clearly amused by my unease. The bastard.

I irefully turn away and open the closet, dragging out a random nightgown. "That is, unless you prefer the chair."

"Can't say that I do." It comes out sounding almost teasing. "Although it would surely be less torture than having to keep my hands off you tonight.", he adds, meaningfully.

Oh, damn.

For a long moment, I stare at him, lost in a daze. It's only when his eyes drop to the nightgown in my hands that I manage to snap out of it.

"Uh… can you turn around for a sec?"

He gives me a look. "Why?"

"'Cause I'd like to change…"

His shoulders rise and fall in a casual shrug. "Change, then."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "I can't do that when you stand here, staring!"

"Shame…" He regards me with that cruel, slightly smug look, like he's enjoying making me uncomfortable. Still not turning around.

"Fine, then." I turn on my heel. "I'm changing in the bathroom."

He huffs a quiet laugh to himself as I storm off, kicking the door closed behind me. I soon get out of my linen gown, moving curtly and fast, and slip into the much lighter, much more alluring nightdress. I nearly yelp, actually, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I've never worn this particular nightgown before, but seeing it now? I'll say it's a little too skimpy for my taste what with its extremely low, lacy neckline and all.

Oh boy, I'm starting to feel nervous again.

I should probably play it cool right now. I should be doing sensible things, like not nervously combing my hair with my fingers, even though the hairbrush lies less than a foot away from me. I should be laid back and seductive. So what if I engaged in a hot make out session with Erhard on top of my desk? I'm cool with that…

Heh! Yeah right.

I try to hide my plastered grin as I take a last look in the mirror, then slowly open the door and walk outsi-

Oh Lord.

I nearly choke on my own breath as my eyes land on Erhard, who is evidently ready for bed, judging by his delightful… shirtlessness. No, seriously. The man is pure muscle and built like a wall, wide and hard and generally delicious.

I silently watch as he stashes his boots and sword belt under the desk. Then he turns towards me and the look he gives me only managed to increase the tension in my gut. It's the same look he gave me when he held me up against the desk. The same look he gave me the night after my rescue before kissing the blood off my shoulder. In the Tree when my hand was on his belt. The terrifying one. The predator one. The one that makes my heart skip a bit.

Especially now that I know what can come after it.

"So", I hesitantly approach him, pretending not to notice that his eyes are glued to my bosom. "I don't know about you, but I'm definitely ready for bed."

He all but grunts, his eyes narrowing as he watches me sit down, shuffling myself to one side of the bed. "You comin'?"

A sigh sinks its way through his broad chest as he pulls the covers back to join me. Slow and tense. He runs a hand through his dark hair, lying on his back and I get the impression that, for some reason, he avoids looking at me.

Minutes pass in silence, my stomach tense from anticipation. I'm acutely aware of every move he makes. I'm actually acutely aware of every move I make, too, every breath I take. I might try to act like I'm comfortable, but this is entirely new for me. Is he going to kiss me again? Is he going to try to do more than that? Or nothing at all? Why is he so quiet? Am _I _supposed to be doing something?

Eventually I turn to my side to look at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I don't know…" I brush my tongue over my lips, giving in to my impulse and touching his chest, drawing abstract patterns with my fingers. "You really never sleep?"

"Yes."

My fingers move slowly, trailing down his stomach. "So… you never feel tired?"

To my surprise, he actually grabs my wrist and removes my hand from his abdomen. "No."

What the...? I blink, faintly confused. I know he's never exactly predictable, but that's weird even by his standards.

I decide to push it a little bit.

"And when you got shot the other day... Did it hurt?", I ask, my fingers reaching up again, fondling his arm.

"A little.", he grunts, pushing my hand away once more.

Okay, that's it.

"What's up?"

He opens his eyes to glower at me. "Didn't you ask me not to touch you?"

Ugh, seriously? "So, what, you're not even going to look at me now? Listen, if I'm making you uncomfortable…"

He rolls over to my side, pinning me down with his body. "You're not making me uncomfortable", he growls, his eyes drifting down to my lips. "You're making me want to go back on my word."

Oh.

"Shame…" I mirror his tone from before, smiling mockingly.

His gaze meets mine, his hand coming to touch me, running up and down my side, gentle and warm and searching, sending tremors through me. "Don't play with fire, Schatz.", he whispers, breathing the words in my ear. "You will regret it."

I can hear the light tremble in his husky voice; feel the heaviness of his breath as his body presses against mine. And it floors me, the effect I have on him; the inner battle he's fighting as he has me trapped beneath him. It wakes some sort of sick fascination inside me; the impulse to take him to his breaking point. So I reach out to caress the side of his face. And when he closes his eyes, leaning in to my touch, I forget about every bit of sense inside me and I kiss him.

He tenses slightly, but he doesn't pull back. He can't. And as I slip my tongue in his mouth, he lets me do that, too. Teeth nipping lightly at my lips; His breath hot in my cheek as he exhales sharply through his nose; His left elbow propping his body as his free hand reaches for my legs, starting to pull my nightgown upwards and I suddenly pull away, coming to my senses.

The baffled look he gives me has me smiling lightly. A wrinkle forms between his dark brows as the cogs in his head start turning and I let myself revel a little in the fact that I actually caught him off guard.

"I thought you were a man of your word.", I say in his ear, fingers brushing over his cheek.

The moment our eyes lock, though, I fall silent, because his expression speaks volumes. Frustration, impatience and underneath that an unquenched thirst.

He presses a soft kiss on my lips.

"I will remember that.", he assures me before reluctantly drawing away, rolling to his side and tugging me up against him.

"I really hope you will.", I murmur drowsily, closing my eyes. "Gute Nacht."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to bleach102, xLunaAngelWarriorx, HessianLover99, noodle86, TheElegantFaerie, Guest666, Venom fan, Beclaws Reason and Guest for reviewing! And thanks for making me think of Erhard whenever I listen to "Love Me Again" :P As for the Sleepy Hollow TV show, nope, I'm afraid I haven't watched any of it yet. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I watched the trailer and now the image of the Horseman wielding a handgun is burned into my brain for life? :P I've heard it's pretty good, though, so I might give it a shot!**


	26. A Flying Bird, A Dying Rose

**A/N: I am _painfully _aware that I have reached new levels of crappy at updating regularly and I'm sincerely sorry. My schedule's tight, homework is piling up on my desk... and on my bed... floor... the occasional chair... aand I actually stayed up till 5 a.m. to finish this, although I have to get up early in the morning, and you're still entirely unconvinced, aren't you?**

**Well, here's a longer chappie, in hopes of making up for my lousy updating skills! *hides***

* * *

><p><em>And then she'd scream <em>  
><em> In my face <em>  
><em> Tell me to leave, <em>  
><em> Leave this place <em>  
><em> Cause she's a supergirl <em>  
><em> And supergirls just fly <em>

Supergirl - Reamonn

* * *

><p>Have you ever woken up feeling fragile?<p>

Have you ever woken up feeling brittle? Like a glass held by slippery hands?

Like a delicate piece of china wobbling at the edge of a rickety shelf?

You scramble out of your covers in the morning with renewed resolve and you decide that you're not going to linger on the gloomy side any longer than you already have. You tell yourself you're fine, nothing eight hours of sleep could not fix, and you leave your room in a good enough mood, determined to do the best with what you have. So what if you're confined among the smothering safety of four walls? You're trying to convince yourself over breakfast that you won't slip into sulky mode again. And for a while, you believe it. After all, when life gives you lemons, you have to make lemonade, right? That's how you cope. That's what you're going to do.

Carpe diem. Or something.

But then something happens and it tips you over the edge. It topples the balance. It brings you down with a depressing thud.

It could be small. It could be fading into unimportance. Or at least that's what the others might tell you. It may be nothing you hadn't seen before. Like the drop that causes the cup to overflow. Like the rubble that triggers the rockslide.

Like an argument with young Masbath over a bruised eye…

"You need not worry about it."

"From the looks of it, I _should _worry. A lot."

I rake a hand through my hair, fixing Jonathan with a troubled stare. He gazes back at me from his chair with that puppy-eyed look he has perfected for these occasions, the one that always has me relenting.

But not today.

Honest to God, he's not leaving this kitchen without telling me who beat him so bad.

He presses his lips in unease. "Aunt Linda..."

"Don't 'aunt Linda' me!", I shriek, pressing a chunk of ice against the side of his face, although it looks like it's too late for that. "How did this happen?"

"I-" He winces in pain. "I tripped and hit myself with a bough at school."

I set the piece of ice aside, scowling furiously. "What have I told you about lying?"

"I'm not-"

My hands are on his shoulders in an instant as I lower myself at his level, utterly fed up with being lied to since the moment he returned from school, all mussed up and on the verge of bursting into tears of aggravation. "Young Masbath, I can see the fist of whoever hit you printed across the side of your face, so don't even think about trying to mislead me. You're going to tell me who did this to you and you're going to tell me _now ._ Is that clear?"

To his credit, he lowers his head in shame. "Yes."

"Good." I straighten up, the anxious frown never leaving my face. "So what happened?"

He takes a moment to answer, his eyes falling on a random mark on the table in front of him. "I wrangled with a few kids after school."

I cross my arms in front of my chest, staring at him in disbelief. Jonathan is an even-tempered child, I know that for sure. That's the last thing I expected to hear from him. "You got into a fight?"

He clenches his fists on the table, the reminder causing his cheeks to flare a heated crimson.

A sigh sinks through me. "So who punched you?"

"Andrew Van Heel" His jaw clenches at the words. "But I beat him good, as well."

"You hit your classmate?!"

A shadow crosses his eyes. "Several classmates."

That throws me. I flick the hair out of my eyes, unable to understand. Hell, thirteen year old boys were never really my specialty. "Why would you do that?"

"I didn't mean to.", he puts back, defensively. "They started it!"

"Well, you must have done something to provoke them."

Christ, I actually sound like my mother!

"I did not, Linda, I swear up and down!"

"Then why did they let you have it?"

He averts his gaze, looking more than a little flustered. "I do not wish to say."

"You don't have much of a choice.", I slant back.

He sighs, lightly. "They… they were saying things about me. And about you, too. They were horrible… I asked them to hold their tongues, but they wouldn't stop!" He looks up at me pleadingly, his expression twisting something in my stomach. "I am terribly sorry, I did not want to fight… But the things they said…"

I slide into a seat opposite him, feeling the color drain from my face. "What did they say?"

He shakes his dark head. "Such things must never be uttered again."

I reach out and take his hands within my own, holding them reassuringly. "Jonathan, I don't intend to tell you off. They said them, not you. I just want to know…"

For a moment, he frowns, hashing over telling me or keeping quiet. Thankfully, he decides on the former. "They… they called me vile and filthy. They that said living with you tainted me and that black magic ran in my blood."

A deep frown cuts through my face. "Is that all?"

"No…" He glances up at me for a brief second, then lowers his head again, a soft blush flaring up his cheeks. "It does not matter…"

"It matters to me."

His big eyes meet mine, anxious. "I… I cannot… You will be angry!"

"I won't be." I lean back, trying to look relaxed. "Not with you."

That does little to reassure him. He knows that he has no choice but to tell me, though. Knows I can be as stubborn as a mule. So he frowns and sighs deeply. "They called you an evil witch. They said you sold your soul to Satan to obtain the Hessian. They accused you of killing even your own kin. They said…" The words freeze on his tongue, but a look from me forces him to continue. "They said you had become the Horseman's whore to pay your debt to him and that their fathers will soon arrest you and do away with you in the gallows and send you back to Hell! I am sorry, Linda, I could not stand to hear them!"

For a long while, I stare absently at young Masbath, unable to speak. It's just one of those moments, when what's happening hits you like a bullet out of the blue and you simply stand there, hopeless and bereft of things to do, until you don't know if you're going to laugh, cry, or remain frozen that way forever.

Out of the mouths of kids. And now young Masbath is getting bullied. Again, because of me.

It almost sounds like a joke.

Something quivers inside me, threatening to burst out. I try to beat it back, try not to seem weak in front of Jonathan, but it's strong and it crushes me. A profound sorrow; an unbeatable guilt. And it builds, taking shape, until it turns into jabbing words.

Useless. Pest. Dangerous.

Trouble.

These things are bound to happen if I'm still around and it makes me feel stupid that I refused to pay them any mind. Today it's a bruised eye and a fat lip, but what about tomorrow? How long until someone gets into real trouble while I lay back and mooch around the mansion?

Maybe this is a sign. Or maybe it's not a sign at all. Maybe it's inane and purposeless. Like me. Broken and healed and so messed up that sometimes I think it's a miracle that I'm still whole.

Whatever it is, it's there, though. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I've reached a dead end. I feel tired. Worn out. Fed up with waking up every day with recovered hope, only to stumble into another trying mischance.

But most of all, I'm tired of bitching and brooding and mewling. Especially when there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

"See? I told you, you would be angered…"

I glance up at Jonathan, faintly startled by the nervous edge in his voice. He waits for it, stiff and timid, his hands curled in his lap.

I force myself to smile. Struggle to keep my voice light and cheerful, even though all the fight seems to have drained out of me. "I'm not. And it's nothing I haven't heard before." Okay, not completely true, I have to admit. That 'whore' part was a new delightful addition. "You know, you shouldn't fuss over what people say, either. Otherwise, you're just going to be miserable and get yourself into trouble. You know you're not vile and you know I'm not an evil witch and it should be enough. They weren't worth it." I slowly get to my feet and approach him. "Will you promise me you won't get into a fight again for something like this?"

He nods compliantly. "I promise."

A sad smile twitches in my lips. I crouch down and hug him tightly, kissing the top of his head and relishing in the warm feel of his arms around me. It's a small bit of comfort for me, too.

I really wish I had a brother like him back home.

"You know", I add smoothly, slowly pulling away. "I think it's best if you stop going to school for a while, though. Maybe you should start again in New York? I think it's safer."

His eyes furrow together. "Alright", he mutters, sullenly.

And he's put out, but I know he understands.

* * *

><p>Katrina finds me in the parlor, sitting on the window pane and gazing inattentively at the muggy sky. It's where I've been sitting practically the whole day, watching the way my breath steams up on the glass and telling myself over and over that I should look at the positives and that everything will be okay in the end.<p>

Which is pointless really. Why lie to yourself when you know you're lying?

Still, it keeps me away from a horrible overflow of tears, I suppose.

"Linda?"

I turn my head to smile at her, scrubbing the window clean with my sleeve. "Hey"

She looks at me, almost uncertainly. "I'd like to have a word with you in the library. There is a matter we should discuss."

Oh. I raise a brow at her serious tone. Does she know what happened to young Masbath? Does she disapprove of my choice to keep him at home? Or… Confusion gets devoured by concern. Is it something else? Has something gone wrong? Is everyone alright? I'm on my feet and stringing along with her through the maze of hallways in a heartbeat.

The relentless drizzle taps on the windows on our way to the library, but I barely notice it. The house is quiet as always, but for some reason, I only now begin to find the silence eerie and uncomfortable.

We quietly patter our way to the small, stuffy room and slip inside, the click of the doorknob painfully loud in my ears. I begin to feel almost claustrophobic. When I glance at Katrina for support, however, I notice that her usual cheery demeanor is not there. Instead, she seems unusually solemn as she takes a seat on the small settee, next to the snuffed out hearth.

What is this?

I give her a nervous smile, but she doesn't smile back. Her wide eyes are on me, warm and congenial, but there's no humor in them.

Anxiety pokes at my stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing", she replies, indicating the seat next to her. "Please."

The way she says it makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle. It doesn't look like it's nothing. I feel almost sick as I seat myself. "Has something happened?" The words blurt out of me before I know it. Does she fear I might not be able to handle another disaster? Is that what this is about? Frankly, I wouldn't blame her, but this is only making me feel more stressed. "Is any-"

"Everything is alright.", she cuts in, always composed. "There is nothing to worry about."

There isn't? I sigh and rest back on the settee, but is still doesn't feel right. And the knock in my stomach only gets tighter when she produces a folded piece of paper from her gown's pocket and leaves in on the coffee table in front of us.

I glance at it undecidedly. The torn page is stained and yellowish. Old. "What is it?"

"Read it, please."

I don't think I want to, not if that is what's making her so aloof. "Can't you tell me?"

"I think you ought to see for yourself."

Now I _seriously _don't want to.

My hands shake, cold and clammy, as I pick it from the table and unfold it. My heart pounds in my chest. I don't know how, but I know. I know what I'm going to read inside, it's like a painful premonition that builds in my chest, but I don't want to believe it. Not yet. Hanging onto the hope that I'm wrong for as long as I can drag it out.

But I'm not.

The letters stare back at me. Grainy, faded with time, but with a clear meaning nonetheless.

I feel the color drain from my face.

A dozen emotions flood through me in convulsing ways. It feels so strange; it's like vertigo.. My eyes land on the title, splayed out in calligraphic letters.

"_SPELLS FOR THE RESTORATION OF ERRORS AND REMOVAL OF BLACK MAGIC"_

I try to read the text below but the words swim and bounce into indistinct lines. Times and dates. Lists of ingredients. It's all there.

It's suddenly so hard to breathe.

"I found it today.", Katrina informs me quietly. "I had been searching since the day you asked me."

Really?

The distant memory hums in my mind. Standing helplessly in the middle of the room that would be mine for the following three months, on cold November day. My first day in the Hollow.

"_Aren't there any time traveling spells, or some kind of potion or… or… I don't know, something!"_

"_I'll search through my books for a spell. Thoroughly. You have my word."_

And she did keep her promise. She never forgot. Not even when I did.

I try to keep my thoughts in order. Try not to let what I feel overwhelm me. That's it. My ticket home is in my hands, scribbled in Latin incantations.

So why can't I bring myself to be thankful?

I place the page back on the coffee table. Stare at it. It's okay, I tell myself. I can work this out. I just need to push back my shock and think rationally for a moment. Katrina, she can help me, too. That's what we do, we try our best for the things we want.

So do I want this?

Drops of panic begin to seep in my mind, louder than the rain outside. It's hard to reason with lifeless words printed in ancient books, though, and the more I think about it, the worse I feel. What can I say to this? How can I turn my back on it?

I asked for a solution and it came. Hell, a month ago I'd be bouncing off the walls in excitement about it.

I rake my fingers through my hair. Clasp them together.

I wish Erhard was here right now.

I instantly chew on my lip at the thought. What good would that be, really? He'd only make this a thousand times harder.

I try to push the thought away, but even though I shake my head it remains stuck at the forefront of my mind, sharp and heavy and hurting so very bad.

A choked out "Oh God" is all I can manage. I don't think I want to leave. But so what? As long as I'm here I'm no more than trouble.

I don't want to be trouble.

"Linda?"

"You had told me there were no time traveling spells."

"There aren't. This is a spell to correct the outcome of the misstep I made."

I take a few seconds to let it sink in. No use. When I find my voice, it seems lifeless. Detached. Too cold and pragmatic to come from someone like me. "It's the safest option." Maybe the only option.

Katrina doesn't try to lie. "That might be true, however, it is merely a suggestion. I told you I will not impose anything on you. You asked me and I tried to find it for you, that is all. It has been quite a long time since then, though. If it does not make you happy, you can discard it."

Something surges through me, but it's not hope. It's too raw for that. It's simply waking up to the realization of that this is really happening. "It's still the safest option.", I repeat, flatly.

"It seems so, yes. But the choice is yours."

My choice? How much of a choice is it? "You want me to choose between erasing my whole time here and being a burden to everyone I care about?"

"It's still a choice." She tucks a blonde tuft behind her ear. "I would be really glad if you decided to stay. Even if it's not here, well… Maybe somewhere else… You could make a new beginning."

A life here.

I could stay in a nearby town for a while, find a job and visit Katrina and young Masbath and Ichabod every now and then. I could figure out a way to spend time with Erhard… we could… oh God, but for how long? How long before someone from Sleepy Hollow sees me? How long before it all gets torn down again?

"It's your decision.", she adds, softly. "I will not try to affect you at all. You went through a lot to be here now."

Yeah. I did.

I let out a heavy sigh.

Katrina went through a lot to bring me that bitsy piece of yellow paper. And she did so when it seemed like I needed it the most. That's why it has to be worth something.

I shake my head, clenching my jaw to stop it from trembling. "No, it's not." My next breath is shaky. "We both know it's the right thing to do."

"But you don't seem to want to-"

"It's not about what I want.", I quickly babble, forcing a smile on my lips, although the tears that are brimming in my eyes already blur my vision. "It's fine. I'll do it. I'll go. It's better this way."

"It is not necessarily the only-"

"I had a life back there, too. I don't want to lose what I have here, but…" I take the piece of paper from her hands, take another quick gander at it as if it's going to give me strength to get this over with. "I had a family, friends, plans. A simpler life. Besides, I could never find my place here."

"This is not true."

Yeah, I know. But it's easy to blame it on that. Easier than to think about all the things that could keep me here.

She gives a long sigh. "Are you sure of it?"

No. But I'm not sure of anything right now, other than the horrible ache in my chest. I rub my face with my hands. "Young Masbath got beaten up today at school. Because of me. Because of what they think I am." She looks at me, faintly stunned. "I can't just live with that." I can't spend my whole life drifting through the wind with no purpose, expecting others to look out for me. "So when are we supposed to do this?"

She sits back, resigned and I hope against hope that she won't push it any further. Please. I don't think I'll stand my ground. "The spell can only be cast once. The incantation must be recited outdoors, under a full moon."

I nod in understanding. "So when is the next full moon?"

"Tomorrow."

Tomorrow?

Too soon. My hands wring against each other. That's too soon. I won't even have the chance to accept it. I won't even have the chance to say a proper goodbye.

"What about the one after that?", I ask, anxiousness evident in my voice.

There is a small pause before Katrina answers me. When she does, her voice is little. "We shall take our leave in ten days. I'm afraid there is no time."

I press my palm against my forehead. "Crap."

"Linda-"

I raise a hand to shush her. "No. It's final." My foot taps nervously at the wooden floor as a painful thought wrenches at me. I look back at her. "When Erhard comes… can you… can you tell him I'm asleep?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her eyebrows arch in surprise, as the meaning of my request sinks in. "No! No, I will not do that."

"Katrina, please. I can't…"

She eyes me sternly. "Well, you must. You owe it to him."

"But it hurts so much…"

Her face softens. "I know. You must tell him, though."

I shake my head. "I don't think I have the strength to go through that."

"I understand. However, it is my one insistence. He deserves to know the truth. He saved your life. You are the one person he seems to care about."

I know he deserves better than that. And I want to tell him everything. I want to make him understand.

I just don't know if I can do it without cracking. I don't know how to end something that has only just begun, especially when I know how much I want it.

God, I wanted this. If only…

I choke off the thought, before it goes any further. What good would wishing things were different do? They are the way they are. Complicated. Messed up. And I just have to suck it up and get on with it.

Because what else can I do?

I no longer want to be an obligation. I don't want to be the one who watches from a safe distance as things happen, unable to react.

I don't want to hide forever. I don't want to spend my whole life lying.

I don't want to let this define me.

I am more than that.

So, I'm leaving. And it's for good.

* * *

><p>The ceaseless torrent splatters loudly on the mansion's windows as night settles in. I snuggle deeper into one of the many soft armchairs of the parlor, letting my mind tune in with the steady taps. February is here with a vengeance. It actually gets colder every day, and I expect the daily rainfalls to turn into snowstorms soon.<p>

Well, no matter, I suppose. I won't be here to see it.

I shove away the thought, but the glum feeling it elicits still lingers. The hours that went by haven't taken away any of the pain. It's still very much searing, even after all I did to make sure I kept myself busy.

I moved through my room like a hurricane, clearing it of my presence. I washed my own clothes as best as I could, folded them neatly and left them on my desk, waiting for me to slip into them once more tomorrow. I took everything out from the closet and stuffed it hastily in a trunk. Petticoats, undergarments, gowns. All of them fancy and pretty, but a waste to me now. I only kept the things I'm wearing. I rounded up my scattered books and shoved them back in their shelves of the library, took back my cell phone…

I could have probably done it all tomorrow. But I just wanted to get this over with.

A loud thunder rumbles, shaking through me. How did I go from where I was yesterday to where I am now? I once more try to slough off last night's memories, but they come with a force I do not anticipate. Darkness and warmth. The feel of two steel like arms wrapped around me. I remember waking up at some point in the middle of the night, restless and shaken by a murky nightmare, still unused to sharing a bed with someone. Despite that, Erhard's quiet, solid presence was enough to make me simmer down again. Then there had been soothing caresses. Unhurried. Lingering. Humming the slow, searing warmth of desire.

It was just a silent moment, but leaving it behind is so painful.

How am I going to do this?

I close my eyes for a long moment, the tears I fought to push back all evening, seizing the chance to trickle down my cheeks. In the complete darkness, my ears strain for every sound around me, and I belatedly realize that the rainfall's taps are accompanied by an ardent battering on the front door.

I freeze where I am. My eyes open, but the rest of me seems to be paralyzed.

He's here already and I'm still completely clueless as to what to say to him.

For a few seconds, I toy with the idea of not answering the door. Everyone is asleep; they wouldn't know. I can just stay curled up in the safety of the cushions and pretend it's only the rain. Pretend I don't notice.

Wimp.

The clobbering gradually gets louder, stronger, more urgent, until I can clearly distinguish it from the rain. A pang of guilt cuts through me. No, it's not right. I can't face him, but I can hide from him, either.

Besides, he could easily smash the door if he wanted to. If he loses his patience. He has done it before and the image is burnt through my mind forever.

How far away that seems now, though, like an echo of another lifetime.

I slowly lurch to my feet, wiping away my tears and sniffling as I stagger my way to the heavy, front door. I steal a brief moment to take a deep breath. It's shuddery, not strong-willed at all.

I wish I was strong-willed right now.

The door opens with a sluggish squeak. Erhard's towering form knocks all the breath out of me. He's soaked to the bone, and the realization makes me even more sheepish of thinking of leaving him in the downpour.

His dark brows furrow. "What took you so long?"

He takes a step forward and I take one back, putting the door between us and making it seem like I'm just letting him in. "I'm sorry, I dozed off." The lie stumbles out with difficulty, but he buys it.

His heavy steps echo loudly in the stillness as he enters the dark hallway, his back turned on me. I lightly push the door closed, my eyes fixed on him as a sharp feeling pierces through my stomach.

I'm actually beginning to feel scared.

He turns around to look at me. I avert my gaze, unable to meet his eyes, my hands on my hips as I try, without success, to seem casual.

For a while, we stand silently in the darkness, him tense, me awkward and fearing that my legs will betray me any moment now and let me collapse in a pathetic heap in front of him. The wheels in my head spin as I fumble for something to break the quietness, but nothing seems good enough. I could ask him if he wants a towel. I could offer to take his drenched cape. I could make goddamned small talk or lead him upstairs or make an effort to smile.

But I don't. I don't move, I don't speak. I don't even look at him.

The tension of his gaze is mirrored in my stomach. It doesn't take him long to notice. "Are you alright?"

I give him a curt nod, fighting to keep my expression blank. "Yeah. Peachy."

He's not convinced and he lets me know as he narrows his eyes suspiciously, his head cocked to the side.

I throw a quick glance at the direction of the staircase, wondering if I could find an excuse to slip away without the conversation going any further.

His trademark frown returns.

Ah. Apparently not.

He takes a slow step forwards and I reflexively take a jittery one back. That seems to baffle him. "What's wrong?"

My hands grip tightly the banister next to me, head spinning dizzily. My impulse to blubber a quick 'nothing' gets quickly smothered by a painful lump in my throat.

I knew it would be hard, but now that he's here it seems impossible.

So I don't answer him. I can't.

He slowly moves towards me again, his terrifying eyes studying me intently. This time, I don't dare move. I just let him approach me, until he's so close that the cold drops of water that trill from his spiky hair land on the side of my neck, sending goosebumps up my skin.

I want to be as cold as the icy blue of his eyes, but an overbearing ache starts growing in my chest at his closeness.

"What happened?" His breath is hot in my ear. I try to keep myself together, still not daring to look at him, all the while searching desperately for an easy way to tell him the truth.

I can't find one.

"Linda…" He sounds curt and testy, as if thinking that whatever's going on is fixable, nothing but an annoyance. "Do you have a mind to speak to me tonight?"

I want to. I want to so bad it hurts.

But I just don't know what to say.

He huffs an aggravated sigh to himself at my persistent silence and my stomach clenches at the thought of his ugly temper flaring slowly back to life. "Look at me."

It's a command. One I don't follow.

"I said. Look. At. Me." This time he says it between gritted teeth.

Reluctantly, I drag my gaze upwards, over the red eyed dragons of his armor, sprinkled slick and glossy from the rain, till we're eye to eye.

"Sprich."

I open my mouth and shut it almost immediately, seemingly unable to do more than keep my face stern and expressionless.

I stiffen as he begins to lower his face towards mine. When his hand tries to tilt my chin up towards him, I flinch away. And when he presses on, making a move to kiss me, I actually step back.

His expression freezes, eyes wide and overcome with shock.

And that's when it hits me.

If I can't tell the truth, if I can't explain… then I just won't. Better that he hates me than trying to stop me. I'm beyond stopping. Better that he thinks I'm bratty and spoiled. Better that I make him not want to see me, make him believe I'm as wayward and nasty as that witch of his. Safer. Simpler.

I force my eyes to remain glued on his. "You know… I'm kinda tired." I cross my arms in front of my chest, hoping that he doesn't notice the way my hands shake. "I'd rather you leave."

He almost twitches at that, seemingly at a loss, his annoyance at my request, muddled by disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah" I purse my lips, feeling like I'm dying inside. "I mean, what's the point of this, anyway? I'm fine, I'm healthy and all… I don't need you here every night."

His jaw works at my words, a sharp breath of air escaping him. What he does next is no great scene from a romance novel. He's not on his knees in an instant, pouring out his heart to me. He doesn't wrap me in his arms, professing his undying love, telling me how much he wants to be with me. Instead there's this horrible moment of silence, as the flicker of emotion in his eyes scorches through me. Because of all things, it's anger.

His face darkens. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry.", I force myself to speak. Stubborn. The words are rigid, unyielding in my tongue, but he's too mad to notice. "But we never should've… well, you know." I give him a shrug of my shoulders. "I don't see how this is going to work between us. And I don't think I care that much, after all."

He shakes his head. Gives me a last chance to take it all back. "You don't mean this."

"I do." I manage to fight back a sob on sheer willpower alone. "I changed my mind. Big deal."

For a brief moment, he stands frozen in his spot, looking at me as if I had slapped him across the face. He doesn't take long to get a grip, though. He doesn't take long to realize the horrible implication of what I' saying.

"You changed your mind?", he hisses, approaching me fast and aggressively. I beat back the spur to run, settling, instead, for staggering backwards with every step he takes, till I hit the wall. "You changed your mind?", he repeats in incredulity, his tone rising.

I glance nervously at the staircase, praying no one wakes up. He doesn't care, though "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I stare back at him, timidly. I'm not stupid, I know what I've done. I know I have abased him. I know I'm treading on dangerous ground. And it kills me, but if I back down now, I know I'll lose it.

I stretch my arm, fumbling blindly for the door handle and pulling the door open, just an inch. It's enough for my point to come across. "I want you to leave", I utter, my voice as cold as my expression. "I don't think we should see each other again. There's no reason."

His frown turns into a full-fledged scowl. He moves in a dot, his hand pushing the door closed, eyes always fixed on mine.

I clench my jaw. Open the door again. This time he moves faster, more assertively, shutting it so forcefully that it threatens to break from its hinges. He fixes me with a hard look. I try to return it, clinging to my last remnants of courage.

"What is so… so hard for you to understand?", I ask, hoping to strike a nerve.

"Say it, then.", he orders, ignoring me, voice crude and low. I blink in confusion. "Say you don't want me."

Oh God, no. Don't make me do that. Not that. Please.

My eyes drop to the floor. "Just… just go."

"Say it.", he repeats icily, driving me over the edge.

My head snaps up. "I don't want you!", I exclaim, silently begging him to believe it.

He doesn't. "You're lying.", he whispers, his hands clenching reflexively on either side of my head.

"I'm not", I whimper, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. "I told you I… I…" Damn, I can't do this. I can't. Not with him so close. I needed him to stay away. "…I changed my mind...",

It's all it takes to make him snap. His reaction is not remotely close to what I had hoped, though. He doesn't turn away in disgust. He doesn't back off. He doesn't leave without a second word. He just grabs my arm and snares me in his hold, his fingers digging almost painfully into my skin. "What do you think you're doing? Is this a game to you?", he hisses, shaking me violently. "Do you think you can do as you please? Huh? Teasing me one day and kicking me out the next? Do you think you can torture me like that?"

I try to answer, but all I can manage is a pathetic weep as two fat, hot tears leak out. I try to wipe my eyes, but he won't let go to let me.

"What is this? Getting back at me? Revenge? You finally get what you want, then you say it's not what you wanted at all?"

No! It was never that. Nothing like that. I look at him pleadingly, all the sorrow I had been fighting back seeping into that look. "Please…"

"Please what? Please WHAT?"

Please stop. Just… stop. Please don't make this harder than it already is. Please let me go.

"Erhard…"

"No", he warns, pushing me back against the wall. "And don't you look at me like that. You don't get to do that anymore…"

"I just-"

"NO!"

Cold, hard panic courses through me. His grip on me never loosens and I begin to quiver, scared stiff of his outburst.

He moves a hand under my chin, wrenching it roughly towards him. When he speaks again, his voice is no more than a crude whisper. "You can't play with me, Linda, get it through your pretty little head. You changed your mind? You should have thought of it before you let me in your bed."

The mere mention of that messes with my self-control. He lets out a low grunt, glancing briefly at my lips and I draw back as far from him as I can, wishing that I could become tiny, wishing that I could sink into the wall, because I know that if he kisses me, it's all over.

His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales slowly. A hand slips on the back of my neck, rough and firm, with none of the gentleness I had grown accustomed to. I try to move away, but he gives me a warning look, edged with the promise of all the malice inside of him.

My knees shake; wobbly and weak. "Don't…", I caution him, voice thick with tension.

"Don't _what?_", he quips back challengingly, his eyes so very cruel.

The mockery in his words steels something inside me. "Don't touch me."

As a response, his fingers start drawing teasing patterns on my neck, sliding slowly downwards. My whole body tenses up, stiff and motionless, and he flashes his sharp teeth at me in a cold smile. "Why shouldn't I?"

Whatever I was going for, doesn't seem to work. I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that implying I used him is bound to come with a consequence and the frightening look on his face makes it official. He's furious.

And I'm screwed.

The feel of his mouth brushing over my neck jolts through me. He chuckles in my ear. "See, Schatz, if I want to touch you, I'll touch you." I swallow nervously. God, it's hard to act aloof when your body does not understand if it's intimidated or turned on. "If I want to kiss you, I'll kiss you", he continues, his voice liquid chocolate in my ears. "And if I want to teach you a hard lesson about how dangerous teasing can be, I can easily do that, too."

A small sound squeezes itself out of the back of my throat. I'm not sure what to do. I'm so shocked. This wasn't a part of the plan, although I couldn't even tell you what the plan was anymore. Damn it, why doesn't anything go the way it should? I look at him anxiously through my lashes as he slides his hand through my hair and something inside me melts in anticipation, knowing what is coming, waiting for his lips to find mine.

I close my eyes and he crashes his mouth on mine, hot and aggressive, not caring if I respond or not. His teeth scrape and sink into my lips, his tongue finding mine, rough and urgent, as he lets all his anger and all his fervor pour into a single kiss. And it's so raw, so forceful, so wicked that it starts to take apart my determination, threatening to leave me with nothing but a painful feeling of hollow loss. So I clamp my hands into fists and struggle to ward him off, flailing and pushing and thumping desperately at his broad chest. My hands ache and burn with the effort, but it's not nearly enough to make him budge. He doesn't even flinch, just roughly grabs my wrists, never ceasing his advances, and forces my hands down in one angry movement. Part of me is aware that fighting him only fires him up more, but I keep struggling against him regardless, groaning and squirming wildly as his mouth leads a hot path to my neck, his lips and teeth doing things they really shouldn't… things they should never… never stop and… Oh… damn…

I throw my head back against the wall, body going lax in his arms as I finally give up with pretending I can resist him. A wave of sadness edged with longing rises up, threatening to crush me.

Not like this. It was not supposed to be like this, what the hell was I thinking?

Stupid.

It doesn't take him long to notice my body caving in to his touch. Doesn't take him long to notice the way my breath hitches in my throat whenever his teeth graze over my skin. He never stops, though. He just slows down, his grip on my wrists loosening, until I'm free to run a hand through the dark mess of his hair. And when his mouth meets mine again, I begin to kiss him back, slow and gently, my lips following ardently his lead, erasing everything I said about not needing him, because screw logic.

There's no wrath in his eyes when he pulls away to look at me, just heat and hunger. And it's so strong, so intense that I wish I could somehow capture and savor it for the rest of my life. It's so deep that it breaks my heart, a new rush of hot tears rising rapidly.

I can't stand letting him see that. So I throw myself into his arms again, burying my face against him, before the first sob shakes through me. "I'm sorry!" My hands rest on his chest, nails digging into the worn leather. I wish I had found the strength to tell him the truth. I wish I hadn't done that. I wish I could take back every rotten thing I said. "I'm so sorry!"

It's all I can manage before my tears pour out, soaking the black leather I lean against and blending with the raindrops, my whole body convulsing with the sobs I cannot hold back anymore.

For a moment, Erhard doesn't move, obviously taken aback by the sudden surge of tears. The mighty Horseman; vicious and fearless in battle, but completely thrown off by an nineteen year old girl sobbing her heart out in his arms. I'd probably laugh if I could muster the courage.

He soon comes around however, as he always does, and he wraps his strong arms around me, drawing me in, warm and solid, waiting for the spell to pass. And when I don't stop crying, he moves further into the hallway, always holding me, and pulls us both down to a rickety chair, stretching out his long legs and seating me in his lap. He doesn't say anything, though. He knows better than that. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't demand a well-deserved explanation. He just holds me close, one hand around my waist, the other in my hair. I thought I'd lost this, and the realization that I haven't only makes me cry harder.

Whether I should let him so close or not, I no longer care. I can breathe him in and nothing else seems to matter. I'm almost broken by sorrow and exhaustion and he's my anchor and I don't want him to let me go. I don't ever want him to let me go.

I don't know how long we sit there, just him and me and the darkness, but when my fingers find his collar, he presses a small kiss on my temple. And when I sigh shakily, my tears finally spent, he moves his hand to my cheek and wipes them away with his thumb.

Eventually, I come to my senses and slowly pull back, my gaze falling to my skirts, almost ashamed.

He sighs wearily. "What's going on?"

My eyes flicker to his face, swollen and filled with uncertainty. His expression is unreadable, but I know I cannot put it off any longer. "I'm leaving.", I say softly, my voice little and still trembling from crying.

His eyebrows knit in confusion. "What?"

"Katrina found a spell to send me back to my time." I glance down again, unable to look him in the eye as I say this. "It has to be cast tomorrow night."

For a while, he says nothing, his only reaction being the slight tightening of his hand on my side. When I look up at him curiously, I notice that his jaw is clenched and he stares at me intently. "No…"

"I have to-"

"You're not going." His hands are on either side of my head in an instant, his forehead pressed against mine. "I've let you slip away from me once, I won't let you do it again. You're not going anywhere." It's harsh; assertive.

It's exactly what I was afraid of.

"I can't stay.", I whisper sadly. "Ichabod and Katrina are moving to New York. I cannot live in this house by myself, not if I value my life."

"Then you're coming with me." It's a statement, not a suggestion. "I won't let anyone harm you."

I pull back, blinking in bewilderment. The thought had never occurred to me and for a moment it fills me with untold hope. _With_ _him. _Every moment of the day. Sleeping and waking and talking and living together. Getting to know him better, nestling in his safety, melting under his touch. It seems almost perfect.

Almost.

"I can't hide forever..." I can't spend every day of my life dodging bullets, avoiding the world. I can't live my whole life worrying that I might be found, always dependent on Erhard, always unable to fend for myself. "I can't oblige you to look after me constantly."

"You are not obliging me to-"

"I am.", I cut in, surprised at my composure. "Maybe not in a direct way, but I am. I don't want this. I don't want you to kill for me again." I don't want to be the person that makes him do that. I'm not like _her_. "I just can't live like this…"

His hand strokes my cheek gently as a look of disquiet etches itself across his face. "You can't do this to me…", he growls, a dangerous edge in his voice.

His touch leaves flames dancing across my skin in its wake. I shake my head. "I had a life back home…"

"You can have a life here, as well.", he puts back stubbornly.

A bitter smile tugs at the edges of my lips. "For how long? It's too complicated. I mean, you're practically immortal and I'm… well… not. Can we ignore this forever?"

He doesn't answer. He just sits there, glaring at the darkness. "So you had a mind to leave without saying anything?"

The way he says it has me blushing furiously in shame. Guilt surges through me anew, as the awfulness of what I tried to do registers. "It was so hard… I'm… I'm really sorry."

"But you're still going.", he rebuts.

I draw back, getting wearily back to my feet, although every part of me still longs for his touch. "Yes…"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

I hear him sigh, like he's trying to keep himself under control, but not quite managing it. The crummy chair creaks as he slowly stands up and moves forwards, his arm sliding around my waist and urging me to follow him.

He opens the door.

I glance up at him in confusion, but the question dies in my lips as he fixes me with an intense look. "Tomorrow.", is all he says, sloughing off all my unsaid protests.

And without a second word, he leads me outside.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to TheElegantFairie, JeffTheKiller24, noodle86, Mary, xLunaAngelWarriorx, Hints Of Grey, HessianLover99, Tanja2210, Guest666, ZabuzasGirl and Dasha for their lovely reviews! :)**


	27. Goodbyes Are Better Left Unsaid

_And I want you now_  
><em> I want you now<em>  
><em> I'll feel my heart implode<em>  
><em> And I'm breaking out<em>  
><em> Escaping now<em>  
><em> Feeling my faith erode <em>

Hysteria - Muse

* * *

><p>The ride back to the Tree of the Dead is a wild one.<p>

The rain soon turns into a full-fledged cloudburst, swamping the ground and spewing so much water that I feel like I've stepped into a shower. A painful, possibly frozen shower. Combined with the headlong canter of Daredevil, it makes keeping my eyes open almost impossible and turns every breath into a heart-clenching ordeal. Mud and grimy water splash and slosh around me, some of it landing on the rose linen of my gown, as the ebony steed's hoofs furiously strike the sodden earth, heading further and further into the Western Woods, oblivious to the raging storm.

The one thing I'm thankful for is the iron grip of Erhard's arm around my waist. It's firm and more than a little constricting, but at least it provides me with a frail sense of warm and keeps me from sliding off the slippery leather of the saddle. Erhard himself looks like the personification of endurance behind me, silent and resolute, his free hand gripping the bridle, jaw clenched and eyes fixed intently on the foggy, dim path ahead.

As a matter of fact, he was like this from the moment he closed the heavy oak door of the mansion behind us. Determined. Resolved. Unwavering.

But dangerously quiet.

He didn't say a word to me. He just slowly stepped out into the downpour, holding my hand, and approached Daredevil. I watched in nervous silence as he helped me up the huge stallion, before climbing easily behind me, too afraid to ask anything in case it broke the spell. He didn't deem explanations necessary either, just threw me the occasional intense glance that was enough to make my heart try to leap out of my chest. It was enough to relieve my doubts as to where we would go.

The Tree, when we finally reach it, fills me with an odd sense of dread. It stands tall and crude and twisted and although I've seen it so many times before, it doesn't fail to rekindle a red-hot fear in my gut as we gallop harder and harder, closer and closer, until its figure grows larger, scarier, clearer under the blurred midnight sky.

Erhard's hand briefly slithers away from my body and presses the crimson jewels of his sword's hilt, before fastening me in his grasp again. As a response, the Tree stirs, letting out a nauseating sound as its roots slowly rip away from the wide opening, creaking as they whoosh in the air like poisonous ribbons, the blood beneath them churning and stirring disgustingly. My breaths turn into hollow pants as we get closer still. The arm that is clasped around me, holding me in place, suddenly feels like it's smothering me and, for some reason, I begin to feel frightened.

I draw in a chilly breath. Try to snap out of it. The dank breeze on my face helps to ground me, but the Erhard's hair-raising cry, as Daredevil leaps into the Tree, has me blenching once more. I close my eyes and bite my lip to keep from screaming, unconsciously pressing my face into his armored chest as the Tree of the Dead swallows us, its roots sealing the entrance behind us.

It's only when Daredevil's hoofs touch ground and we come into a stop that I dare open my eyes again. Erhard moves behind me, letting go of me before he dismounts, but I sit still in my spot, breathing shakily as awareness of my surroundings slowly creeps back.

It takes me a while to realize we're in the antechamber, surrounded by the scent of earth and open air. It's dark and cold, but at least the rain doesn't reach it. I try and fight off a shiver. I'm drenched, I realize, my dress dripping and stained with mud, weighing me down and sticking to my skin and, God, I must look like a royal mess.

"Do you have a mind to get down?"

Erhard's husky voice jolts me back to my senses. I glance down at him, nodding nervously, before I finally move. Thankfully, he reaches out and eases me to my feet.

My legs are slightly shaky as my feet touch ground again and I can't help wondering if he can sense it.

Probably.

I stand still before him for a while. Let him run his hands down my back as he stares at me, almost intrigued. "Were you scared?"

I can't decide if the prospect puzzles or amuses him, so I just settle from glancing away from the unnatural blue of his eyes.

"Just a little… overwhelmed…."

I _have _regained my language skills, however, which is more than I had hoped for.

He raises an eyebrow, a half-smile playing on his thin lips.

So amused it is. Well, screw him and his smugness. I'm not going to let him provoke me.

I _am _going to shoot him a disapproving scowl, though.

Argh, but that only makes him pinch my cheek, smiling arrogantly all the while.

He indicates the door with a nod of his head. "Go inside." His voice sounds gruff compared to the almost mischievous look in his eyes. "I'll be there in a minute."

Ah, okay, that swiftly shatters my annoyance, replacing it with a strange feeling of anticipation instead. I step back, smiling anxiously, and make for the heavy double doors on my left.

All the small details spring to life around me as I close the door with a soft click behind me. For a long moment, I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying to decide how I feel about being back here.

Well, nervous, mainly. Kind of giddy, too.

But other than that? It's strange. Nothing seems to have changed. Everything is pretty much as I had left it, the armchairs slouching by the fireplace, the empty bowl on the table, frozen that way in time like some sort of modern still-life…It's almost as if I had never left. Memories flood every corner of the room, overwhelming me. Talks and arguments. Awkward glances, heated disputes, unresolved tension, a jumble of truth and lies, of honesty and distrust. And then a kiss…

They're all back in a heartbeat. And yet something feels different. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Erhard is not here. I try and imagine that he is not in the next room, that I'm truly and utterly alone, and the thought fills me with distress and misery, the room no longer warm and cozy, but cold and almost depressing.

Does he feel that way, too? Living here alone? Confined here?

The logs in the hearth crack as the fire blazes, drawing me closer to it. I'm so cold. I kneel in front of the fireplace, hoping to dry my hair at least, but my gown clings to my body like a sodden rag, soaking through me. I kick of my soggy shoes and briefly toy with the idea of taking my dress off, as well, just for the sake of warmth, but… yeah, that would probably come out as… desperate.

So, nope.

Pneumonia it is.

The seconds go by like hours as I sit on the floor, gazing at the orange flames, the knot in my stomach tightening as my brain slips into overanalyzing mode again. Is it right that I'm back here? Should I have stayed at the mansion? Should I have left a message to Katrina? Should I be _doing _something right now?

Ugh, and I wonder what's taking him so long. How long does unsaddling a horse take, anyway? Should I go check on him? Or should I stay put? Is he having second thoughts about this? No, why would he? After all we're just… we're just…

_What_ are we doing exactly?

I nearly flinch, thoughts going blank in a dot. Taking me back here doesn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe he just wants to talk. Maybe he just prefers it here, because it's less crowded.

Although… he didn't seem to care much about that last night and the night before and we could talk at the mansion. We did talk. Or rather, I talked and then he yelled and now…well…

Man, I'm so out of my depth. And I'm seriously crap at figuring these things out. Especially with him. I never know what to expect. I don't even know what _he _expects, and I start feeling terrified that it isn't what I think it is and even more terrified that it is!

Crap crap crap. Part of me is aware that I really should calm down. Yep. Need to stop working yourself up, girl. Never mind the fact that you're talking to yourself. Just focus on not making a mess out of this and take things as they come.

Right. Okay.

My hand fumbles instinctively in my pocket. I unfold Katrina's spell once more, feeling guilty of letting it get wet, and reread it, even though I've already learnt it by heart. The time, the incantation, the full list of the ingredients needed… It's all burned in my mind.

_SPELLS FOR THE RESTORATION OF ERRORS AND REMOVAL OF BLACK MAGIC_

I can't help letting my mind work out the inevitable correlation. Errors and black magic. Is that all we stand for? Is that all there is between us? A spell gone wrong and a pact with the Devil? Is that all we have in common? Being victimized and bunch of nasty memories?

A lifeless smile cracks across my face. The stuff of epic romance.

And was all the time I spent here merely a mistake? Was it just wrong and purposeless? Before I was sure, but now? The words spin and slide across my mind, playing games.

How can it be that I'm just an error?

The abrupt click of the doorknob makes me flinch. I quickly fold the page and cram it back in my pocket again, before getting to my feet, stifling a nervous giggle.

Erhard carelessly kicks the door shut behind him whilst taking off his rain soaked cape, gloves, armor and boots and letting them fall on the floor. My eyes tail after his movements and linger on the discarded items, laying rumpled and tattered next to him, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's easier than looking at his eyes. 'Cause when I do, I realize that he's staring at me. Intensely.

Damn, but I don't want to blush again. So I quickly avert my gaze, eyes flickering around the room, in a pathetic attempt not to look fidgety, although I'm pretty sure he can-

I start, a thrown off look on my face, as I notice, for the first time, that what must have previously qualified as a chair is now lying smashed beyond recognition in a corner behind Erhard.

Forgetting my previous nervousness, I lope towards it, but he quickly sidles to his right, blocking my way.

An unidentifiable smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Going somewhere?"

I cross my arms in front of my chest, more for the sake of keeping some distance between us than anything, and pointedly nod towards the wall behind his shoulder. "What happened to that chair?"

Whatever he expected to hear probably had nothing to do with my question. He frowns, before turning briefly to glance at the wrecked piece of furniture.

A weary sigh sinks through his chest as he turns towards me again, but my curiosity is piqued.

He looks at me, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "My temper got the best of me…"

I snort some kind of laughter at that. "Your temper always has the best of you" I take a small step, passing him by to take a better look at the damage he caused. "Last I knew, the chair hadn't done anything to provoke you, though. So what happened?"

He's suddenly right behind me, his hands grazing slowly up my arms and I swear I can feel his stunning eyes roaming over me. "You left.", he growls quietly, before nuzzling my neck. "That's what happened."

Oh. I swallow awkwardly, my eyes widening in surprise. I imagined he'd be mad, but right now I'm really glad he hadn't been able to follow me right away.

Despite that, I can't stop the twinge of guilt in my chest. Even if I still believe I did the right thing.

Dark eyes meet bright blue ones as I slowly turn to face him, unwilling to look at the reminder of my escape any longer. "I'm sorry." Even if I've said it a million times today.

A dark look crosses his face. "No, you're not."

The meaning behind his curt reply comes like a stinging slap across the face. "I will be, if you tear the place down tomorrow."

To that he says nothing. His mouth flattens into a tense line. He sighs impatiently.

I should probably drop the subject.

Giving him an apologetic look, I close the space between us and wrap myself in his warmth, resting my head against his chest. His arms lock around me in a tight embrace, crushing me up against him, and he feels so safe and solid that I cannot even remember what it was that made me feel so nervous.

I feel him place a light kiss on the top of my head, then another one on my cheek. "You're trembling."

His hands brush over my soaked back and I fight off a shiver. "Well, I'm really, _really _wet…"

A that, he takes a small step back pulling me away so that he can face me, an impish look in his eyes. "But I haven't done anything, yet."

He hasn't…?

Oooh. My cheeks flush a heated crimson as the silence that follows gives me the time to think of the way what I said came across. More sexual innuendo than simple, innocent fact. Not quite as I intended.

And he just _had _to jump at the chance to give me a hard time and kill the moment, didn't he?

He lets out a throaty chuckle at my glowering face. "Testy, Schatz?"

I scoff, witty comeback already formed in my head. I never get to throw it at him, though, because, without warning, his hands swiftly disappear from my arms, tugging skillfully at the laces on the back of my gown instead.

I almost squeak as I feel my bodice grow looser, squirming out of Erhard's grasp and battering his hands away. "Hasty, mister?"

That earns me a sinful grin. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let my guest get sick?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You're no gentleman."

"Ah, but that has its benefits.", he teases, pulling me close to him again. "Now do us both a favor and take the damn thing off."

Part of me tells me I should really roll my eyes. It wants to tell him that I'm not his personal entertainment.

But the rest of me? It wants to show him that he can't intimidate me. That teasing gleam in his eyes, the smug look on his face… I want to see it stamped out. I want to see his reaction. I want to take a risk.

Besides. There's nothing wrong with letting him look, right?

Feeling lightheaded and a little bolder than I probably should, I step back and untie the rest of my tattered gown's laces, letting it fall in a heap on the floor, leaving me only in my scant, lacy undergown.

His eyes widen, a low grunt escaping his throat as he takes me in. The way his glazing gaze roams my body is an almost tangible thing. I can feel it burn on every place it touches. When, at long last, his eyes meet mine again, I notice that his breathing is heavy, the amused look he previously wore indeed erased.

Replaced by something darker.

Maybe letting him look _was _dangerous, after all.

I somehow manage to pull off a sweet smile. "A piece of heaven?"

"Nein." He slowly shakes his head, hands clenching into fists on his sides. "A piece of what I should burn in for the things I want to do to you."

Then his hands are on my waist, bringing my body close to his, heat and electricity surging wildly through me. I wrap my arms around his neck and he lunges at me, drowning me in a rough kiss, filled with all the intensity I've come to know so well in him. His breath comes out hot in my cheek as he pushes me backwards and effortlessly lifts me up so that I sit on the table, any reservations I might have had melting under his touch. I'm not going to lie to myself. Not tonight.

I want him.

When my fingers find the buttons of his black shirt, he lets me undo them. And when my tongue grazes lightly over his lips, he lays me back against the table, bringing his body on top of mine. His fingers work impatiently on the straps of my undergown, pulling them down, giving him more skin to conquer, letting him move his crushing kisses there. He gets hold of my wrists, pinning them on the wooden surface, on either side of my head and knocking what sounds like bowls and mugs on the floor. Not that either of us seems to care.

The primitiveness with which I respond takes even me by surprise. My legs wrap around his waist as he lightly bites his way down my neck, eliciting a gasp as he leaves teasing kisses all around the undergarment's low neckline. His right hand frees my wrist to slide up my bare leg, sliding under the undergown and up my hip, my entire body burning and focused on his caresses.

For reasons beyond me and much to my dismay, he suddenly removes it, though. His lips slow down, too, moving away from my chest. I think he's going to kiss me again, so I hastily nudge forwards, but he moves, quick, managing to keep the short distance between us.

"What?", I ask confusedly. Was I supposed to do something? Did I do anything wrong? Is there, like, a 'How-to-Operate-the-Hessian' manual I ought to have known about?

The frustrated look on his face isn't exactly comforting. He nods at me meaningfully. "On a goddamned table?"

Oh! Well… Umm…

Fair point, I guess.

He straightens up, shirt hanging loosely over his body, and looks me over. "Who knew I'd be the one holding you back?"

The teasing nature of his words is evident, yet I still find myself blushing furiously in embarrassment as he smirks, awfully pleased with himself. I sit up, making a meager attempt to pull my disheveled form back together and fixing my eyes on his chest, too self-conscious to look him in the eye.

I think he senses my mortification, because when I try to straighten my skirt, he pushes my hand away. I glance away, lips pressed in a thin line, but he wrenches my chin towards him, all gentleness gone, and I'm forced to stare into the electric sea of his eyes.

"Don't go quiet on me now." He runs a thumb across my collarbone as he whispers it, totally screwing with any coherence left in my mind.

"Sorry", I mumble breathlessly. I can see that his lips are damp, still wet from my kisses and it makes my stomach clench with diffidence. How can it be that he can drive me over the edge so easily? Abashed, I try to get up, but he's holding me still, eyes never moving away from mine.

"Erhard", I try, but he stops me, his fingers pressing against my lips.

"You're not giving me excuses tonight, Linda.", he breathes past my ear. "And if you don't want this, you'd best say so now."

A silent moment passes between us, my answer clear and certain in the lingering look I give him.

Then his hands move to my waist, drawing me closer, the sudden coldness of my lips replaced by the heat of his breath, then the roughness of his mouth and my embarrassment gets instantly swallowed by a surge of desire.

He picks me up, wrapping my legs around him as he moves towards the door. When my feet touch ground again, we're in the bedroom.

If someone had told me ten days ago that this would be happening to me, I wouldn't have believed them. Yes, I would be flustered and yes, my mind would probably roam to places that would make me blush, but it would be the reaction to a girly daydream, not reality.

I guess if someone had told me a couple of months ago that this would be happening I would have laughed right in their face.

A few hours? Probably burst out in tears.

But now?

Oh dear.

With a soft click, Erhard closes the bedroom door behind him. The act is so final that my heart skips a bit.

My eyes bounce around the room, absorbing it as if I'd never seen it before, from the worn closet to the comfy looking armchair and then…

My teeth bite at my bottom lip as my wandering gaze lands on the huge, double bed, boldness fleeting swiftly from my gut. And the fact that Erhard is standing right behind me, locking his arms around my waist and letting out a soft groan as I accidentally move against the sooomewhat obvious bulge in his pants, doesn't really help matters.

The kick of emotion as his mouth finds the nape of my neck floors me. I hold onto him, nails digging into his wrists. "Do you think they'll know I left the house?"

Normally, my panicky babbling would vex him, but he doesn't seem to give a damn about it tonight. "No." It's brusque. Plain-dealing.

"It's just that I didn't leave a message… I mean…", I weakly continue, my breathing going heavier at the small kisses he places on my shoulder. "I mean… if they find out, they'll… they'll be…" God, did he just use his teeth? "…they'll be…" Oh screw it, they'll be fine.

With a final, quick kiss, he spins me around, his hands dropping to my hips and then moving slowly upwards to the small of my back in a way that turns my brain to mush. I run my hands across the solidness of his chest, slowly fondling my way up to his shoulders, eyes unfailingly glued to his. Then my fingers curl around the softness of his shirt and I pull it downwards, taking it off, the wet material rolling slowly down his arms and clinging to his skin.

I can't help but marvel at his build, breath hitching in my throat. In the unbroken silence, I know he hears it.

His attention is drawn elsewhere, though. He moves in closer and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me, but he snatches my wrists instead, gliding my hands down to the buckle of his belt. I swallow, all desire and innocent nervousness and fumble at it, tugging it free, before he jerks at the buttons, shedding his pants.

And then I'm in his arms, drowning in a breathless kiss, and he's warm and firm and ardent and pushing me backwards until there is nowhere to go and the bed creaks, my drenched hair splayed out on the pillow, his body hard and heavy against mine.

His hands set me aflame. I'm not sure what I should be doing but it doesn't really seem to matter. His mouth is hot against my shoulders, sharp teeth digging into my skin as he slides the straps of my undergarment down, tugging at it roughly, until a tearing sound fills the room and it's quickly ripped off of me, joining his clothes on the floor.

I feel like he has taken away my armor. My hands grip the sheets when his tongue touches my skin. I somehow thought he'd jump right into it, but he drags it out, caressing and kissing as much of me as he can, reveling in the gasps he elicits. This is nothing like before, I fuzzily realize. It's slow and sensual. A lifetime of memories in one night.

Then he's here again, hips easing my legs apart, his face above mine as his eyes devour me and I can feel…oh…

I wince at the shock of him, drawing in a sharp breath as he moves. He sees it and his jaw clenches as he fights for control, struggling to keep himself from hurting me. "Relax", is all he whispers before kissing me, his fingers tangling with mine above my head. He's careful and considerate, none of the things I expected him to be and the realization makes me want him even more, it that's possible.

The muscles of his back are flexed and strong as he thrusts again, eyes closing, his voice breaking. It's things like that, I realize that warm the fire in my belly again. The noises he makes, the way his breath comes out rugged and heavy, the sinew and strength of his arm at the side of my head… That's what causes pain to be swallowed by sensation.

I move with him and a word is torn from his lips, half curse, half moan, muffled in my mouth.

My thoughts are broken and weak in the moment. He's suddenly hard and primal again, grunts and tremors shuddering through him and God it's intense. A mesh of movement, my body arching towards him, his hand crooking my knee around him, gripping my thigh. Breathing harder. Legs wrapping tighter around him, muscles burning, his breath hissing as my nails dig into his back. Louder. Bodies so very close, gripping and moving into each other, sweat trickling. Skin on skin. His moans as he gets more and more frantic, the lust that's surging through my veins, his kisses. My whole body shuddering as he thrusts harder and faster. The things he growls in my ear. The things I want. The loss of control as the pressure in me builds with every move, until I can't hold it anymore and I'm trembling, sinking in it, the sounds coming from my mouth not sounds I thought I could make.

It pushes him over the edge. He holds onto me, so hard it hurts, stifling a curse, his face buried in my neck as I feel his muscles throb, trembling with the power that's in them.

And then he's spent. And I hear him heave for breath as I slowly return to reality, exhausted.

I eventually feel his weight lift off of me, as he withdraws and rolls to the side, drawing me close so that my head is resting on his chest and his steel arms are keeping me warm and safe.

"Are you all right?" He sounds calm and sated, the tension in him somewhat tamed.

'All right' doesn't even begin to cut it. I'm so much more than that. I'm warm, content, melted with emotions. I'm happy.

In the end, I just settle for an incomprehensible "hmm".

His husky chuckle shakes through me. "What's 'hmm' supposed to mean?"

"I'll let you know when I'm able to tell up from down." I mumble, my eyes drifting closed with exhaustion.

But I don't want to sleep. I don't want to give in to tiredness. If all that's left is a few hours with him, I want to make good use of them.

He kisses the top of my head and holds me tighter, teasing mood long gone. The silence that follows is smooth and relaxed and I rejoice in it for several minutes.

When I glance up at him, I notice that his eyes are closed, his breathing light against the side of my face. If I didn't know better, I'd think he truly is asleep.

"How old where you when…", I hesitate, unable to bring myself to say it.

He opens his eyes to give me a steady look. "When what?"

"When you… when you died.", I say softly, the words so sour and painful that I instinctively huddle closer to him.

He looks puzzled for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug. "I just want to know." Really, that's all. I wish I knew that. I wish I knew more. I wish there was more time to get to know him. "How old were you?", I ask again, my index finger drawing circles on his bare chest.

He huffs a sigh, the memory not a pleasant one. "Thirty-six." he grunts, eventually.

"Thirty-six?" My eyebrows arch in surprise. "We've quite an age difference."

"That makes no sense", he mutters, stroking my hair. "And what are you? Eighteen?"

"Nineteen." I correct him sharply, even if he does find it comical. "Though I guess it doesn't matter."

He will still be thirty-six when I'm thirty-six. He'll be thirty-six when I'm in my late eighties and long after I'm gone.

God, how is it fair that I get some kind of closure and he doesn't? How is it fair that I return back to my life while he's stuck here, alone? He never chose this. Is that the true price of black magic?

_Black magic._

_Errors and black magic…_

A new thought whispers at the edges of my mind, crude and tingling. An aspect I hadn't considered before, no matter how many times I read the spell. It grows when Erhard's hand trails down my back. Sizzling when I realize that if I had this every day, it would be better than having the world. I'd be happy.

And it takes shape when I view it from a more unselfish plane, though I dare not utter it. It's safer that I don't.

"Erhard?", I nudge him, intent to do this while my resolve is strong, with no doubts poisoning it. "Can I ask something from you?"

"What?"

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Can I have a tuft of your hair?"

That throws him. "What's that now?"

I fight to keep my emotion from rising to the surface. Fight to look calm. "I'd just like to have something yours with me always, that's all."

I can't tell he's baffled. He decides not to push it, though. Opening the nightstand's drawer on his left, he retrieves a small knife, before cutting off a few raven black strands of hair. "Satisfied?" he asks, cupping my cheek.

A bittersweet smile crawls slowly across my face, longing mingling with joy. "Yes. Very much so."

He briefly frowns at my secretive look, but doesn't insist for more. Instead, he presses a soft, lingering kiss on my lips, sending fire surging through my veins and whispering the fresh memories of the night's most heated moments.

This time, when fatigue comes to claim me, I do not object. Snuggling closer to Erhard, I sigh contently and close my eyes, slipping into darkness.

And I sleep better than I have in months.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Many thanks and fluffy puppies to Hessian304, xLunaAngelWarriorx, HessianLover99, Dasha, Guest666, Anabelle, ScienceExperiment5150, TheElegantFairie, OtakuNinja-chan and noodle86 for reviewing! :D**


	28. The Last Sacrifice

_I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones  
>Enough to make my systems blow<br>Welcome to the new age_

Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

* * *

><p>He's not next to me when I wake up.<p>

I don't notice it right away. The realization sinks in slowly, like a rock being swallowed by quicksand. The lack of the heavy warmth that hemmed me in through the night. The cold immensity of the bed.

I don't get up. Not yet. I don't let the emptiness hurt me. Instead I slip back into that murky sense of lolling; half-asleep, drifting in and out of dreams, undistinguishable from memories.

I bury my nose in the pillow. Erhard's smell still clings to the sheets and as I breathe in, I fight the urge to pretend that he's still here. I fight to keep reality from crushing me. Instead, I clutch the twisted sheets closer to my chest, telling myself all the rational things I need to hear. That I knew, from the beginning, that I'd have to leave in the morning. That I need some time to think, anyway. That one night is better than a lifetime of not knowing.

But I can't really believe any of them.

The shock of the crisp earth beneath my feet as I make for the bathroom is a welcome distraction. My knees are shaky as I clamber into the bathtub, muscles I've never really used before protesting, despite a good night's sleep, but the water is hot and soothing and soon I find my body going lax into the humid hotness. I move with a determination I don't believe in, washing through my hair, scrubbing away the aches and the stickiness that remain, until they disappear. Which is more than I can say about… about…

I suddenly feel my face flush hotter than the water, whatever nips of melancholy I previously felt, dying down and being swiftly replaced by a jumble of embarrassment and girly excitement as I notice the small bite marks that adorn my body. My eyes slowly trace them, little stamps of red and mauve against pale skin, each one bringing back a kiss, a touch, a moan, until I'm engulfed in the blissful realization of what happened last night. My teeth bite down hard on my bottom lip as I notice the one on my inner thigh and I hastily climb out of the bathtub and dig around for a towel, strangely shy.

The drops of water that drip down from my hair make my skin prickle as they touch my back and I wrap the towel tighter around me, before heading, soft-footed, back to the bedroom.

I step over my torn undergown as I cross the room. Erhard's clothes are all gone. Of course they are.

I try not to let it affect me but, for some reason, it hurts. Why wasn't he next to me when I woke up? Is there a chance he's still angry? Would he rather be alone? Does he want me to go?

Probably.

I shake my head as I stand before the door, telling myself that I shouldn't dwell on it. That I should probably go pick my gown off the floor, get dressed and… well, go.

I mean, Ichabod and Katrina have probably realized I'm gone and I know that sneaking out was rather inconsiderate… Plus, I'm really hungry and I think I-

The door swings open.

He's standing there, holding a plate piled up with food in one hand. He's dressed, but it looks like he did it in a hurry; he's barefoot in his pants, his shirt only half-buttoned, his black hair as mussed up as always.

It makes me want to cry.

A look crosses his face when he sees me standing at the doorway. "You slept in. I thought you might be hungry."

And I don't know what to say to that. Because he's here. And the breakfast gesture is so unlike him that it makes me ache with longing.

"I… I thought you'd gone…", I say carefully, wincing at the way it makes him stiffen.

He fixes me with a look, cocking his head to the side. "Gone where?"

I open my mouth to answer, then close it immediately when I realize he knew full well what I meant.

And, judging by the way he looks at me, he didn't really like it.

The tension in the room is suddenly so thick you could cut it with a knife. He puts the plate down on the nightstand before turning back to me. I take a wary step backwards, clutching the towel tight around me, but he quickly closes the distance between us, his hand tilting my chin up towards him.

"You really think I'd do that?" He leans toward me, as if to kiss me. "After last night…?"

I fight to form a coherent answer but his proximity and the way his breath caresses the base of my throat erase every chance of achieving that. Instead, I look up at him timidly, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

"I'm a bastard, Linda, but not _that_ much of a bastard…"

Yes, I know. I should have known better. Regret lines my stomach, thick and heavy. I really want to apologize for making a habit out of jumping to conclusions. I want to tell him that he's no bastard; he's no monster, not in my eyes. I want to let him know that last night was the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I want…

Well, what I always want. I want him.

When I finally do speak, however, my voice is meek and feeble. "I just thought…" I try and twist my tongue into speaking, but it seems to have forgotten its use. "I… Maybe you didn't feel comfortable seeing me after it was… over." Choked out words that hurt when I force myself to say them.

I look down, waiting for a response. I get nothing, though. Instead, the silence hangs between us, unperturbed, and I begin to regret speaking.

I wonder what is going through his head as he towers over me, still as a statue. I wonder if he's too angry to speak. Wonder if it's going to be like every other time we ended up arguing. We frequently end up arguing and I don't want that. I couldn't cope with that right now.

Then I hear him draw in a long breath and in that moment I'm so thankful that he hasn't just turned and stormed out.

"Over…?" he whispers eventually. I glance up curiously, going all hot and cold as our eyes meet. For a moment his chilling gaze darkens and something I see there catches my breath. "Who said it's over?"

I swallow, feeling curiously self-conscious. I know I'm staring, but I can't help it. Even though he's stopped speaking.

Even though he's staring back.

His hand finds my waist, before dropping lower, fingers bunching around the hem of my towel. He tugs at it, his knuckles brushing over the warmth of my skin, then peels it off of me and I struggle to hold back the girlish yelp that tries to force itself out.

Flustered, I begin to speak, but he moves in on me, quick, kissing me so hard that every part of me awakens at once.

A headlong rush of desire hits me, fast and burning with an urgency only he can incite. The moment I begin to kiss him back, though, he breaks it off, as unexpectedly as he started it, letting me regain some fickle control.

Without a word, he steps back and pulls his shirt over his head, hard muscles flowing beneath pale skin as his arm stretch upwards. My body is already wired, craving his touch, but it is my embarrassment and confusion that manage to get the best of me.

"What… what are you doing?"

His eyes trail slowly up my body, before meeting mine, firm and deep and hungry, his lips twitching in an almost-smile. "What do you think?"

Honestly? I'm still trying to comprehend how we jumped from the 'I'm-leaving-without-a-word' stage to round two. Which would seem like a wonderful idea, to be sure, were it not for the fact that I should reallyreturn to the village. As in, return right now. Shit, I should have probably made it back already!

Although… asking him to put his shirt back on after he has just taken it off _would _be impolite. Plus, I'm already late and an hour or so wouldn't hurt that mu-

Nope. No. Damn it, get ahold of yourself!

He casually leans forward for another kiss, but I press my index finger lightly on his lips, keeping the miniscule distance between us. The way his eyes flare in annoyance almost makes me regret it. "I think I should go…"

Something jolts through me when he moves his head and closes my finger in his mouth and I feel breathless as I pull my hand free. "I think not." is all he says, pulling me flush against the tightness in his pants and effectively screwing with my concentration. I make a half-hearted attempt to squirm away, trying to focus on the telling off I will have to endure when I make it back to the manor, but my control rapidly frays as Erhard nuzzles the curve of my neck.

"Please… we can't…" I whimper, but his touch is moving downwards and saying no doesn't really seem like such a good idea anymore.

He traces over my side, leaving a pricking sense of awareness in his wake. His fingers spread out as they slide lower, bold and possessive. "Don't you want to?" he rasps in my ear, slowly pushing me backwards.

I shudder as he leads his caresses to the center of my desire. "Oh, I want to…" My body is actually thrumming with how much I want to. "I just… I'll… oh… I'll get a very… very stern lecture when I get back and I-"

"Linda" he grumbles, hand already fumbling with his belt. "Shut it."

His mouth covers mine, seeking to take control.

And with that, we're back to bed.

* * *

><p>By the time I make it back to the Van Tassel manor, it is well past midday.<p>

For the first time in weeks, the silence of the house actually feels comforting. Its vastness, its inaction, its sobriety… It no longer seems eerie and inhospitable.

It's almost… welcoming.

I spend most of the day in the parlor, simmering down in the calmness that seems to have overtaken everyone in the Van Tassel estate. Ichabod and young Masbath are in the library, studying math and physics and whatnot and Katrina has currently locked herself in her room, going over the spell, considering every little detail and every possible complication.

There's an air of normalcy and ease that I hadn't seen in a long time. And even if it can't really be a part of me, just observing and rejoicing in it makes me feel like I can breathe again.

My breath steams up on the window as I sigh quietly, idly watching the falling snow covering everything in a frosty blanket.

Hard as I try to find some sort of distraction from my wandering thoughts, they keep lurking in my head with a persistency I can't elude and I almost begin to wish I could sink into the beaten path of denial once more. When I close my eyes, though, searching for the ribbon of steel stubbornness that used to be there all the time, all I can find is a curious blend of elation and melancholy and a wild fluttering in my stomach that makes me feel all burning and giddy.

Is that what being in love feels like?

I bite my lip as I chew over the thought, feeling my cheeks flush hot with color. That seems to happen a lot today, whenever I think of Erhard and I haven't decided if I love it for the way it makes me feel or hate it for revealing what is on my mind to everyone with a pair of eyes.

Maybe it's because of the severity of what is going to happen tonight. Maybe it's because I'm still wrapped in Erhard's cloak, as I sit by the window, his smell warming and thrilling me in equal parts. Like leather and rain and something that is entirely… him.

Or maybe it's because I can't think of him anymore without reliving some real steamy bits of last night. And this morning. Heh. Not when I still bear the marks of his passion on my body.

Suddenly, I can't sit still anymore. So I get up and… aimlessly push stuff around. Smooth out the wrinkles of the curtain. Move the armchair to the other side of the room, it look _much _better there. Rearrange the books on the shelf so that- oh screw it, I really need to do something with my life.

Food. I can eat something. See? Practical. I haven't had a bite all day, anyway. And I seriously need to start eating like a normal human being again. My mother would probably be appalled if she could see how my eating habits have gone downhill. She had been chasing me around with food since I was old enough to walk.

The thought makes me smile even though it brings with it an unexpected twinge of nostalgia.

I try not to think about it as I leave the room, telling myself that what I'm going to do tonight is the right thing. That I know this in my heart for a fact. That it is my decision to make and I've already made it, because for once in my life, I'm sure about myself.

Then I hesitate, for a moment, as I pass the front door, a jolt kicking through my stomach, followed by an embarrassed biting of my lip. The memory of what it feels like to be pressed right up against that wall by a very frustrated and furious German is too fresh in my mind right now. It's causing all my rational thoughts to melt together in a ball of guilt and longing that utterly destroys my concentration and I just hover there, overwhelmed, for ages. Staring at the peeling wallpaper.

…What was I supposed to be doing again…?

Oh, yeah. Food. Damn, my stomach's rumbling. And I should really work on not getting distracted so easily sometime.

Seriously, it's not normal to get all gloppy when you stare at a wall.

* * *

><p>Night falls and Katrina finds me in my room, already in my jeans and tank top and pacing fervently, watching the greyish tinted sky turn heavy with darkness.<p>

She doesn't even have to say anything. A look at her pale, solemn face and the bag in her hands is enough to confirm that it's time. She smiles wanly, attempting to look reassuring, but she can't really control the way her hands shake and that gives her away.

She's just as nervous as I am.

My heart beats so fast, I'm afraid it might break. Throat's so tight that I can hardly speak, so I just give her a shaky nod and make for the door. "I'm ready."

Ichabod and young Masbath object when we tell them that we ought to go alone, but Katrina's reassuring words are enough to bring them around eventually. So I hug them both, careful not to let my smile falter and with that, we're off.

The only sound, as we leave the house, is the crunch of the snow beneath our feet. The air is cold on my face but I don't really feel it. I just let it numb me as I try to clear my head and prepare myself. I pull the hood of my cloak over my head; watch my breath cloud in front of my face. It's too cold for anyone to be outside, but we cross the village cautiously, jumping at every little sound, and seeking shelter where the darkness is thicker.

It's almost ironic how entering the Western Woods makes me feel safer than being in the village, but as the tree line engulfs us, I audibly sigh in relief.

The path to the Tree of the Dead is a known one and the adrenaline that pumps through me has me walking in a fast and unwavering pace that almost manages to warm me. Katrina speaks occasionally, making passable attempts at small talk, but her words hardly register. My eyes are glued to the path ahead and I'm trembling, although whether it's because of the cold or my anxiety, I can't really tell. I just put one foot in front of the other and clench my jaw, fighting back the jumble of my emotions.

Until we reach the familiar clearing. Until I can make out the twisted trunk and the extended branches of the Tree through the darkness.

Until I see Erhard, leaning against the roots, arms crossed in front of his chest and gaze fixed on the ground.

His head snaps up when he hears us, his eyes glancing at the bag in Katrina's hands, before meeting mine and I can't help it, my thoughts trail off into blankness. I freeze where I stand, my gaze following timidly his tall frame as he pushes himself away from the tree and walks calmly towards me.

I feel dizzy as he looks me over, tension coiling tight within my stomach, although he's not even touching me. Part of me wants to reach out for him and melt in his arms, but for some strange reason I feel too coy and embarrassed to do anything but meet his gaze.

I mean, how do I act around him now? What the hell do I say?

His hand comes up to caress my cheek, eyes glowing strangely in the night, and I instinctively lean in to his touch. My hesitation dies away at once, arms locking around his neck and despite the tears that blur my vision, a smile stretches across my face. "I hoped you'd come."

He draws me in a close embrace, kissing the top of my head. "I wanted my cloak back."

I pull away to look at him, an eyebrow raised pointedly at his teasing smirk.

Ugh. Self-assured, smug bastard. He's lucky he looks so hot when he does that.

I make a decent effort at pouting, but it soon grows into a smile and I realize that I don't mind it, at all. In fact, I'm glad that he's composed. It's heartening; reassuring. It strengthens my resolve. So I take a step back and blink innocently. "Too bad I left it back at the house, then."

Katrina throws me a timid "Linda?" before Erhard has a chance to say anything else and promptly shut him up with a quick, ardent kiss, for good measure, before joining her.

The melting snow makes lighting a fire a challenge, but we manage it fairly well. For several seconds, Katrina sits still, staring attentively at the flickering flames. Then she pulls her hood back and turns to me, her dark eyes murky and glazing with something I cannot identify. "Are you ready?"

There is an otherworldly quality in her voice, but she is calm and controlled and it has a soothing effect on me. So I give her a nod, gripping at the denim of my jeans.

"Open the bag and give me the ingredients I name."

Oh God, we're really going to do this.

"Aconite leaves."

My hand is trembling as I reach inside the bag, but I waste no time. I hand her the leaves, watching wide-eyed as she throws them in the fire, chanting softly in what I presume is Latin.

"Lavender. Moonstone."

My eyes slip intuitively towards Erhard. He is standing with Daredevil at a safe distance, but his eyes are set on us, hard and cold, watching intently every move.

"Bat wing. Rose thorns."

The smoke rising from the fire has a curious shade of blue in it, its overwhelming smell making my head spin and having me fight the urge to get up and move away from it.

"And a few strands of your hair."

My fingers fumble briefly in my pocket, gut wrenching under her patient, composed gaze. I swallow awkwardly as I quickly hand her the tuft, but… yeah… She's not fooled.

A long moment of dumbfounded silence passes. Then, slowly, hesitantly "Linda?"

"Do it."

"But-"

"Just do it. Please."

She looks briefly at Erhard, before her befuddled gaze turns back to me. For a few moments, she stares at me, unblinking, but something she sees in my expression persuades her to trust me. "Are you certain of this?"

"I've never been so certain of anything else in my life."

She discreetly dips her head in understanding, taking the hair from my hand and throwing it in the fire.

My heart lurches as she finishes the incantation, the smoke rising thick and fast. It makes my eyes sting, but I dare not look away, not until a flash of lightning turns the night into day and blinds me.

A deafening thunder rolls, mingling with Daredevil's screeching neigh. The temperature rises rapidly, the snow melting beneath me, soaking through my jeans and shoes. I try to get up, but the ground gives a tremble, buzzing though me and throwing me back on my knees, fists clenched and eyes shut. The sky keep switching from pitch black to a brazen white, so fast it hardly registers, each flash followed by another thunder.

But then it all starts to recede. The rumble soon becomes a buzzing hum, the hum a whisper, no louder than the crackling of the fire.

It's done.

I slowly stagger back to my feet, chest heaving and eyes scouring everything around me.

It's done!

I struggle to stay upright. Fight the dizzy pull of the landscape swaying around me. Katrina is still huddled by the fire, breathing heavily, but she's not looking at me. Instead she's gaping right ahead, her eyes wide and fixed on…

Oh God.

Where the Tree of the Dead once stood, there is only ashes and black, charred earth.

"Erhard." I clench out the word as shock lances through my chest. "Erhard!"

He's on his knees, not ten feet away from me, breathing in great gulps of cold, smoky air. Gleeful tears blur my vision as I run to him and slump on the ground, my eyes trying to find his.

Oh God, we did it, we did it! It… "It worked!"

A gloved hand slowly comes up to grip my shoulder, the other one placed over his heart. When he raises his head to look at me, his eyes are filled with wild disbelief. "What have you done?"

A sob twists in my throat, feelings of absolute joy threatening to drown me. He doesn't notice, though. Grabbing my jaw, he wrenches my face towards him. "What have you _done_?"

My stomach flips and I look downwards, away from the intensity of his eyes. But it's impossible to concentrate, not when I see it, not when I know that the curse is lifted from him. A smile stretches across my face, fingers tracing lightly his jaw. "It worked!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to TheElegantFaerie, Hessian304, OtakuNinja-chan, Anabelle, noodle86, HessianLover99, Guest666, Guest, Dasha and Imitation1 for their lovely reviews! I would say I'm sorry chapter 28 took me so long but I'm afraid I'll start repeating myself. I _am _really sorry that I kept you waiting so long, though. Hope you'll take me back! *puppy eyes***


	29. Late Night Arguments

_What can I do?  
>To turn you on or get through to you<br>What can I do?  
>Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue<br>Sun and ocean blue __  
>Their magnificence, it don't make sense to you<em>

Black Beauty - Lana Del Rey

* * *

><p>You'd think lifting a curse from someone would surely please them.<p>

You'd think getting the chance to actually _live _again would manage to cheer them up.

At the very least, you'd think the prospect of not spending eternity in an underground prison, unable to eat, sleep or even walk in the light of day, would, perhaps, appeal to them.

You'd be wrong.

I don't know what goes through Erhard's mind as he is knelt there, glaring at me, but I'm pretty sure enthusiasm is a far cry from it.

The soft rasp of his breath grates menacingly through the still atmosphere. Furrows of a scowl appear between his eyes. Teeth bared. A sharp huff through his nose. Angered. "You didn't…"

His eyes bore into mine, draining my excitement and leaving confusion and meekness in its stead. I blink, reactions slow and muddled, stomach squeezing painfully in foreboding.

I shrink away instinctively, try to-

His hand closes around my arm and yanks. It roughly drags me closer, not caring how I barely manage to keep my balance, and I'm suddenly drowning in electric blue. "Tell me you didn't-"

Katrina's soft gasp, as she slumps on the ground, cuts him off. His grip loosens and I seize the chance to free my arm and rush to her side, thankful for the distance it puts between us.

Her eyes drift closed as I feel her brow, her breathing deep and strenuous. She's conscious, though. Her eyelids flutter rapidly, her small hand finding mine, seeking support as she tries to sit up.

I sweep the swish of pale hair back out of her eyes. "Easy there."

She nods softly, a faint tinge of color returning to her cheeks. "I'm all right. The spell was… quite strong."

That it was. I steal a lingering look at Erhard as I help her to her feet. He's trying to calm Daredevil, murmuring soothing words I can't pick up, his hand stroking the fidgety steed's mane. He seems gentle and patient and for a brief moment I allow myself to hope that maybe, just _maybe _he's not as angry as I initially thought…

But that's only until he turns to glance at me.

Yeah, he's furious alright.

Katrina's voice blissfully cuts through the heavily charged silence. "We should probably return to the house."

* * *

><p>The walk back to the Van Tassel manor is uncomfortable at best.<p>

I can barely feel my legs as I step over dank twigs and pools of melted snow. Katrina's timidity and Erhard's silent sulkiness hamper any chance at conversation, so I keep my thoughts to myself, fairly sure that cutting wit or sharp remarks wouldn't make the situation any less awkward. Daredevil's gait is the only sound that disturbs the quietness, its steady rhythm making my eyelids grow heavy and gritty with drowsiness.

Despite the gravity and the strain of it all, I am worn out and ready to drop.

The sight of the forlorn mansion, looming somberly in the distance, manages to boost my determination and I quicken my stride, pretending not to notice the way Erhard's hand clenches around Daredevil's bridle and trying _really _hard not to worry too much about how I'm going to break the news to Ichabod.

I mean, that is bound to go _so _well.

I steel myself, heart lurching as I head directly towards the front door in an act of pure will power. If I'm honest, I'm not sure of what I'm more afraid; being alone with Erhard, not being alone with Erhard, having to explain things to Ichabod or filing another potential flop under my 'lack-of-forethought' list. Which is pretty much replete as it is.

I reach up a hand to open the door, then falter, dispirited, my hand still hovering one inch away from the door handle as I notice that Erhard is watching me closely, looking all weary and dour and snappy and generally bummed. It's really disarming.

Ookaay. I might be mistaken, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm screwed.

And most probably not in the good, hot way.

My unease doesn't go unnoticed by Katrina. "There is hay for Daredevil in the stable." she lightly intervenes with a courteous dip of her head.

I swear she's an angel in disguise.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding back as he wordlessly makes for the stables. Part of me is aware that I should do something, like open the door at last or thank Katrina for stepping in, but all I seem to be able to do is hover there awkwardly, iffy and undecided. Useless.

Katrina's hand finds my shoulder, calm and composed. "I shall talk to Ichabod myself." Her voice is warm, seeking to take the edge off my discomfort. "Will you prepare a room for the… for Erhard?"

That jolts me out of my daze. I give her a nod, manage some resemblance of pulling myself together and rush inside.

Nervousness wrenches at me as I ransack my room, fiddling with my semi-organized clutter. Even when I'm tidy, I'm not… tidy. I hastily remove my clothes, throwing them in a ruffled pile on the floor and banging my knees on the iron frames of the bed as I move too fast for my brain to catch up. Root around the closet for a nightgown to change into. Fingers fumbling to tie the strings in front of the mirror.

Goddamit why the hell do they put laces on those things? Aren't they made for comfort?

And why am I suddenly unable to function?

I tell myself that I really need to calm down as I tie my hair in a side braid. That there is no reason to panic, because it's not going to help. That whatever the cause behind Erhard's frustration is? We'll go into it. I will explain. I just have to take everything step by step. I can handle this.

…Although I can't find my right shoe. Dammit. Handling it put on hold until shoe is found.

Uhh, okay. Where would I be hiding if I were a shoe? Where would I-

There! Under the bed, the tricky bastard.

All right, first obstacle overcome. Where was I?

Oh yeah, the step by step approach. Damn right. I guess I should prepare a bedroom.

I haul the drawer open, snatch some clean sheets and dash to the only spare guestroom of the mansion.

Thankfully, no one's inside. I take a moment to examine it, see what needs to be done. It doesn't differ greatly from mine. It's simple, not too big, the furnishing modest but sufficient. I just have to tidy it up a little bit and it will be snug and cushy.

I waste no time. Glad for the chance to keep my mind occupied, I busy myself with sweeping, dusting, airing, making the bed… By the time I'm done, I feel sore with tiredness, but I just can't sit down.

Maybe I should bring some food, too? He might be hungry.

I don't see anyone on my way to the kitchen. In fact, the hallways are delightfully empty of raised voices or indignant constables. Something of which I'm sure is a feat achieved by no other than Katrina.

The kitchen is dark and drafty, but I barely seem to notice. Grabbing a plate, I quickly pile it with dinner leftovers, all the while grateful that I didn't have to actually _cook_.

Somehow, I don't think Erhard would be impressed with my scorched omelette.

I make a mental note to work on my culinary skills as I scurry back to the room. _His _room now, I guess. He's still not here, though, and it makes me feel antsy with uncertainty. Is there a chance he took off or something?

I mull over the thought as I lay the plate on the desk and sit cross-legged and stiff on the side of the bed. Try not to let it set me off on a path of worry. Perhaps he just needs some time alone. To think it all through? That would be understandable, wouldn't it? Perhaps he will be calmer when he finally does come upstairs.

Yup.

Maybe bringing a beer or two, as well, would be a good idea. I could run back to the kitchen and get some. In fact, I could-

The door suddenly swings open to reveal a sullen and rather tired-looking Hessian and I realize that there's no need to bring any beer, after all, because he's already holding a half-empty bottle in one hand. The kind that holds strong liquor.

He halts at the doorway as he spots me on the bed, his grip around the bottle's neck tightening. His sharp exhale of breath has me wondering if he's going to snap at me, say something along the lines of 'what the hell were you playing at?' For a moment, it looks like he's actually going there, too, and I stiffen, waiting for it, but then something makes him change his mind and he just frowns and steps in the room.

Every part of me tenses. I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to say? He's free and I stayed and I thought we'd be good about this, but apparently… we're not. Instead, he looks pissed off.

…I don't understand this.

He leaves the bottle on the desk and turns his back on me, starting to undress. Making me even more uncomfortable. I quietly watch the way he throws his armor on the floor, the way he roughly loosens the buttons of his shirt. Eyes lingering on his muscular back. Dammit. Stop it! That doesn't help!

I tear my eyes away from him. Force myself to break the silence.

"So… how do you like your room?"

I skittishly stare at my lap for several seconds, wait for him to answer. But I'm only met with silence.

"I know it's not much, but it was the only room available…"

He just takes a swig from his bottle. Still not looking at me.

Ugh. This is getting unbearable. My hand bunches around the sheets in agitation, but I struggle to keep my voice soft and level. "I left some food on the desk in case you're hungry."

He leaves his shirt over the back of the chair, throwing a cursory glance at the general direction of the plate. But other than that? Nothing,

Nada. Nichts.

Maybe he wants me to go.

I toy with the idea for a while, but, in the end, I stay put.

It's strange. I know I could get up from my place on the bed. I could walk out and slam the door behind me and he wouldn't even try to stop me. In fact, I very much want to.

But I just… don't.

Not before we settle this.

I take a deep breath. Decide on a more direct approach. "Please don't ignore me."

At that, he finally turns towards me, casting another deep frown. My gaze snags on his tall frame as he approaches, fast, glaring down at me. "Believe me, Linda, ignoring you is not the worst thing I could do to you right now."

We're obviously off to a great start.

I cringe inwardly, every nerve in my body tingling at his closeness. God, he's close. And annoyed. Eyes narrowed. Fists clenched. Radiating tension.

It makes me want to hide under the covers.

My brain stumbles to a halt and I stare weakly at him as he snaps around, as if he can't bear to look at me.

I dig my nails into my palms, not sure how to articulate the jumble of my thoughts. I want to follow a rational trail, I really do, but there's no chance of that working while he's pacing the room like a caged beast. Forget all chance of getting a handle of my emotions, as well. It takes all of my willpower not to get up and scram.

He angrily grunts something under his breath. Couldn't tell you what. Most probably German swear words.

Ooh, crap. I fumble around for... something… anything… "Can you… can you explain to me why you're so angry?"

He halts. Raises an eyebrow. "Can you explain to me why you acted like an idiot with delusions of heroism?"

What?!

Okay, that's… that's actually quite hurtful. More than anything, because playing the hero was the last thing that went through my mind.

I give a huff of disbelief. "You really think that?"

He doesn't answer and it causes something in me to lurch painfully, my tangled thoughts finally starting to unweave around the edges.

_That's _what he thinks? That I gave up every hope of ever seeing my home again for a whim? That I don't understand the gravity of what I did? That his life is a freaking _game_ to me?

It's not! I saw him. I saw how he suffered, how Lady Van Tassel's spell possessed and consumed him even after her death. How he hated it. I saw it all and I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't do something to help him.

I just wanted to take his pain away. And I don't expect gratitude or anything, but the fact that he doesn't understand my motives sends waves of anger spiraling through me.

Because if he can't comprehend why I did this? If he can't see what's in front of him? Then he truly has no idea how I feel about him. And it hurts.

I struggle to keep my voice low, tell myself there's no need for the entire household to hear us. "I thought you wanted your life back…"

"This is not about what I wanted."

I'm up in an instant. "Then what _is_ it about?"

He doesn't look at me, doesn't even bother to reply.

"If I had told you what I had in mind, would you have let me do it?"

He huffs in annoyance. "Enough."

"No, it's not-"

But I'm cut short, because he suddenly turns around, his fist colliding brutally with the wall. "ENOUGH!"

_Shit. _My heart judders to a stop, all the words abandoning my mind. I know he sees it, it was probably what he was going for, and it sends prickling quivers buzzing through me.

Some rational part of me tells me that I should find some kind of security in the dull silence that follows, but right now I can't reach it. Instead the stillness and the shadows amplify the snarl of fear and anger that courses through me, knotting me up inside.

Eventually, he approaches, a shadow that towers over me, dark and tense. And when he speaks, his words hurt so much that my hand itches with the need to slap him. "I should have figured out what you were up to."

Ugh.

I'm strongly aware of his piercing gaze, feeling it cut through my stomach. I know he's waiting for me to say something, but my jaw is wired shut, eyes wandering out the window, watching the blackness struggle to fade into a miserable dawn.

What's left for me to say anyway?

His hand reaches up to grab my shoulder. I try not to pay it any mind, but my breath catches, body going rigid under his touch. The sigh that sinks through his chest tells me that he's somewhat calmer, that this should be a good time to try and reason with him, but… I can't. I'm too bitter for that. Instead I feebly let his hand linger on my shoulder a moment longer, before sliding down my arm and back to his side. As if he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

I blink into the darkness. Try to swallow back my stupid tears.

I don't want to do this. I know I said I would talk to him, but he makes it too damn hard and I can't find the energy for it anymore.

I take a step backwards when he tries to move closer.

"Linda…" he snaps at my wall of silence. Blunt. Demanding.

I shake my head. "Goodnight." It comes out dead, laying bare my resignation. I don't even have the strength to be mad at him; I just want to go.

This time he doesn't try to stop me. There's no words, no hand yanking me back in his arms. I just walk calmly past him and out, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand and closing the door quietly behind me.

It's only when I'm out, in the watery grey of the hallway that I hear the sound of a bottle shattering against the wall.

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><p><strong>AN: Many thanks to Unquestionably Unhinged, gingersexfairy, TheElegantFaerie, Imitation1, LabyFan23, Slyth3rwin, noodle86, Dasha, TheFluffyBakura, Septemberfall and HessianLover99 for reviewing! Aand I'd love to see a photo of the Tree of the Dead look-a-like! :)**


	30. Hide and Seek

_But you are unfixable_  
><em>I can't break through your world<em>  
><em>'Cause you live in shades of cool<em>  
><em>Your heart is unbreakable<em>

Shades of Cool - Lana Del Rey

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><p>Dinner is awkward.<p>

I'm not sure why I thought that having Ichabod and Erhard at the same table could ever go well. If anything, past experiences should have given me a lesson that I ought to never forget. Which is keeping those two apart at all times.

Either that or just avoiding them altogether. I mean, it's not like either of them exactly dotes on me right now.

Yay me.

I try and pretend that I don't notice the way Ichabod's hands are trembling, letting the irritating clang of his fork thud in my ears as I down my wine and go for another glass. Probably not the last one if I'm going to sit through this to the end. At least Erhard's presence in the house has so far kept Ichabod silent and prevented him from throwing a hysterical fit.

See? There's always a positive side to every-

Oh God. I flinch, spilling wine all over the front of my dress as Erhard's leg accidentally brushes against mine under the table. This isn't helping my nerves, at all. Wasn't facing him after last night enough? Did I actually have to sit next to him, too?

It isn't fun.

I pick up my handkerchief and start dabbing furiously at the crimson splotch on my bodice, intently ignoring the curious looks that are thrown my way from across the table.

Erhard is the only one that appears to be utterly disinterested. He doesn't so much as glance at me, just vigorously jabs at his food, a sour look on his face. Yeah, nothing like a lousy hangover to enhance grumpiness, I guess. I'd honestly feel for him if I weren't mad beyond words.

Literally. I'm not speaking to him until he decides to speak to me.

And I don't care how childish this sounds, either. I wasn't the one yelling and punching the wall last night.

I throw my handkerchief back on the table, giving Ichabod and Katrina a small smile that dies on my lips too early to be convincing and try to turn my focus to my plate.

Damn, but the atmosphere is tense. Even Katrina is uncomfortably silent, having settled for throwing me heartening looks every now and then. Which doesn't really seem to work, because I still can't shake off my uneasiness. The best I can manage is gazing longingly at the door and groping for a good excuse to get up and leave.

I can't come up with anything, though. And I wish I could say that my anger and my pride were enough to keep me cold and aloof, but the mere presence of Erhard rekindles all that stupid, giddy, painful confusion I struggled to block out and I hate that! How can I be furious with him and want him so much at the same time?

Ichabod's less-than-subtle cough drags me out of my thoughts. He's staring intently at the saltshaker in front of Erhard, most likely too scared to actually ask for it, his lips pressed in a tight line. Like a little kid that can't reach the cookie jar. Even in the midst of his alcohol induced headache Erhard notices; I see his eyes flicker. Nothing escapes his attention.

He does nothing, though. Nothing at all. He just sneers menacingly at poor Ichabod, getting some sort of sick satisfaction out of watching his hands shake and his face turn as white as a sheet.

Oh for God's sake. I reach forward, grab the saltshaker and shove it at Ichabod, before plopping back in my seat with an eye roll. This is downright stupid. I mean, the two of them… they're just… ugh.

Next time, I'm eating in my room. This sucks.

Relief washes over me as dinner finally draws to an end. Ichabod is the first to leave the table, stuttering something about fatigue and table manners, before disappearing upstairs. I pay him no mind, focusing on clearing the table instead. That and ignoring Erhard. Which gets really hard when Katrina rounds up a few dishes and goes to the kitchen, leaving me alone with him in the dining room.

Seriously, life hates me today.

I try to look nonchalant as I gather the plates, telling myself that there is nothing to worry about anyway, seeing as he has been practically avoiding me all day. Still, I can't stop my eyes from turning towards him as he wearily gets up. The tension suddenly becomes almost palpable. It claws its way through my stomach, thwarting me from moving. I know I shouldn't let him see how he's affecting me, but my mind doesn't seem keen on bending to my thoughts right now. All it wants me to do is look at him. Which is just not fair.

Then there's this painful moment when biting glances are shared, emotions caught… mainly mine… And I wish that it could at least ease something in the hardness of his expression, but… nothing. He just gives me a stone cold look that would probably wither small children.

Gah, I hate that look! I hate that I can't erase it. I hate his silence. I hate his stubbornness and I hate wanting to run my hands all over his body.

It's all so goddam frustrating!

I glare at the tablecloth as I get back to stacking up the dishes, hoping for some sort of distraction. That earns me a grunt of displeasure, before he turns and storms out of the dining room, slamming the door behind him.

A snide smirk curls the corners of my mouth as I hear him stalk upstairs. That's all for tonight, I guess…

Fine.

You know what? I wanted him to go. Good. I'm glad he did.

I am.

And no, that is NOT disappointment I'm feeling.

I head into the kitchen, forcing myself to brush off his coldness. It's not hard to pretend when you're so fueled by anger. Or at least it shouldn't be. Dammit, how can he be so irritating without even saying a word? I sulkily slam the dishes on the counter somewhat harder than intended. The impact startles Katrina, who turns from her dishwashing to look at me, a knowing look in her eyes.

"So, that was rather constrained, wasn't it?"

I snort humorlessly. "I'd say it was the epitome of uncomfortable. Where's young Masbath?"

"In his room." She briefly hesitates. "Ichabod… forbade him to be near the Hessian."

Oh come on, he doesn't bite! Well, not much. Heh. "So I assume he didn't take the news well…"

"Not particularly, no…"

Why do I get the feeling that this is an understatement? "Ichabod needs to calm down a little bit."

She leans back against the counter, wiping her hands with a cloth. "So does Erhard," she suggests, probably referring to the saltshaker incident.

I sit at the table and rest my chin on my hand, a glum look on my face. "Don't get me started."

"How is he?"

I shrug. "Couldn't tell you, he hasn't said a word to me. Sulky, that's for sure."

Her mouth twists in sympathy. "Well… he received quite a shock."

"It's more than that. He…" I sigh wearily. "He's angry. With me."

"You took him by surprise, Linda."

"I know."

"You used a most powerful spell on him without letting him know. Even if it was for his own good, he might feel like he has been misled."

"I know!" I understand that! Even if I don't like it. "I just… I wish he would actually tell me all those things." I wish I didn't have to wonder what he's thinking. Every time I want to know what bothers him, he just clams up. "He's so unreachable."

"He is a man. And a rather impulsive one for that matter. Most men do not confide in others easily."

"He's far more stubborn than most men."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes… I mean, I tried… sort of…" I fold my arms, frowning at the unpleasant memory. "It didn't really work."

She gives me a small smile. It's perceptive, I realize. Discerning. She doubtless sees things more clearly than I do and I can't help wondering if she was ever in a similar position with Ichabod. Not that I can really use him as a reference point for Erhard. Still, he's not exactly the most open person, either.

"Be patient," she says, at last. "Perhaps he needs some time. I'm sure his temper will subside, eventually."

I nod slightly, unwilling to discuss it any further, and get up to help with the rest of the dishes. Seriously doubting her words.

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><p>Two days pass in aggravating silence.<p>

Two long days of frustration, melancholy and crippling uncertainty. Two days filled with tension, awkwardness and poisonous looks. Well, at least on my part.

'Cause Erhard? He hasn't really given me anything other than coldness and blank, hard dismissal.

I think this whole 'patience' thing might not be working out so well, after all. I don't know, it's a subtle suspicion. Call it a hunch.

Whatever.

Things slowly begin to slide back in their kooky routine. Katrina seems busier than usual with the departure day approaching (something that I try not to think too much about – I'm stressed enough as it is) so I don't get to spend much time with her. She said I'm more than welcome to help her and Ichabod with their arrangements, but I declined seeing as I pretty much suck at organizing.

At least that's what I told her. To be honest, I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm too miserable to handle their togetherness right now.

I'm fairly sure that makes me a bad person.

Erhard can hardly stay in the house. He has been spending a lot of time with Daredevil lately, riding away for hours at a time. Most of the whole day, actually. He saddles up all edgy and tense with his jaw clenched and returns, well, certainly not relaxed, but tired enough to crash in his room without a word.

You know what the worst part is? Despite all the annoyance and all the acrimony, I miss him. A lot. I often catch myself glancing out the window, hoping to see him ride back. Which makes no sense whatsoever, since he never bothers to talk to me when he returns.

Don't I affect him at all?

Sometimes I get the sudden urge to confront him. To tell him all those things I'd planned to say, all these small ideas… But I can't bring myself to do it.

Part of it is selfishness. I still haven't gotten over our last fight. Just the memory of his flare-up is enough to bring a new wave of anger to the surface.

The rest is merely self-doubt. I mean, come on, even if I did talk to him, why would he want to hear me? He seems perfectly content ignoring me. And given my last experiences, I don't see how I could possibly manage a crack in his brick wall of stiffness.

Damn him and his… blunt… disregarding me… brusqueness.

I let out a sigh as I slowly cross the main hallway, brooding over the same thoughts over and over. The gleam of sunset that filters through the curtains casts wavy ripples against the jade walls and I idly watch them for a while, wishing that they could somehow take my mind off my worries.

I mean, I _want _to be laid back about it all. Isn't that enough?

Ugh, I'd kill for some chocolate right now.

I wander aimlessly for a while, then turn around and head for the library, deciding to go for a book. At least I'll be doing something beneficial with my time. Not that I can really concentrate on anything these days, but it's either that or moping and I think I've had my fair share of the latter for-

I hobble to a stop outside the library, so abruptly that I nearly trip over my gown.

The door is slightly ajar and through the dim slice of candlelight that slips away I can make out Katrina's form. She is standing by the window, smiling and nodding politely to something someone said. I can't see who, though, the door is in the-

Oh.

Her companion suddenly steps in my field of view and I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach.

Erhard?

My pulse drums through my ears. He's staring out the window at the oncoming night, his hands behind his back. Looking calmer than I've seen him in days. His mouth works as he lightly replies to whatever it is that Katrina asked him, but I can't really make out any words.

Not that it matters.

I quietly step back into the shadow of the wall, not overhearing, but rather trying to pinpoint which part of me feels like it's slowly being crushed and fighting the surge of emotion that's trying to smother me.

It's not jealousy, it's just… It's not fair, okay? After two days of freezing glares and agonizing silence, he finally talks to someone and that someone is still not me. And it's not like he can't tell how shitty I've been feeling, it's practically written all over my face. So he obviously just doesn't _want _to speak to me.

That or he simply couldn't care less.

I don't know which possibility hurts more, but I hate that I'm so upset. Especially when it's just me! Because, apparently he's fine. He's not a trembling mess. He doesn't spend his days arguing with himself over whether he should admit that he misses me or not. Nope. That pleasure is saved for me alone.

How lovely.

I hover there for a moment longer, trying to decide what to do. The library option is definitely crossed out now that I've peeked, so I guess I'd better go while I'm still unnoticed.

…Or not.

The sound of approaching footsteps cuts off my sorry attempt at rational thinking. I cringe in dread, heart hammering fitfully in my chest as I try not to freak out. Part of me insists that the normal thing to do is stay put and act like I came here with a purpose, because, after all, that's perfectly true. My panic abruptly seizes hold of me, however, and I turn and walk away really fast, not even caring where I'm going as long as it's not close to the library.

The faint footsteps continue to follow me as I rush upstairs. Dammit_. _I cross the entire hallway, belatedly realizing that I've reached a dead end and that if I want to go to my room? I'll have to go back the way I came. Crap, _crap,_ I'm only making this worse. I waver indecisively for a brief moment, then turn left without thinking and let myself in Ichabod's room.

The creeping dusk paints eerie patterns with the shadows around me, but instead of unnerving, right now it feels reassuring. I close my eyes and lean back against the coolness of the door, finally starting to regain my composure.

That was close.

"It is customary to knock before entering an occupied room," a petulant voice calls from the desk.

I open my eyes, wincing uneasily. "I'm sorry, Ichabod. I was… kinda hoping you weren't here."

The yelp of surprise following my statement makes me realize how it came across. Yeah… I must sound like some sort of stalker or something. "Sorry, I… I didn't mean..." Oh, how the hell do I explain without embarrassing myself even further? "Can I just stay here for a while?"

He grips the arms of his chair, giving me a baffled look. "W-why?"

"It's nothing… I just… I…" My voice trails off as I suddenly realize that the sound of footsteps has returned. And it's fast, striding footsteps. Getting louder.

Oh man, there's no way this is Katrina.

I flinch away from the door. "Shit! He's here?"

"_He_?!" Ichabod is up in a heartbeat. "Is this the Horseman?" His hand finds his collar and he grips the desk with the other one, looking like he's about to start hyperventilating. "Linda, I have reluctantly consented to him staying in the Van Tassel estate, but I will absolutely _not_ tolerate his presence in this room!"

I open the closet. "Yes, yes, I understand. Just help me a little, will ya?" I whisper loudly, diving into a cluster of pants and neatly folded shirts. Damn, but the guy's tidy. "Can you lie to him or something? Tell him I'm in my room. Sleeping." I hastily pull the closet door shut till I'm engulfed in muffled darkness.

There's a screeching creak as the door handle turns, followed by heavy silence.

"Reading, Crane?" The accented gruffness of Erhard's voice has me huddling backwards nervously. I'm really thankful that I can't see anything.

Ichabod clears his throat uncomfortably. "I- I was…"

"You've been spending too much time locked in here."

I hear a gasp of affront. "It's for research purposes…"

"Right. I'll leave you to it. Just tell Linda to come find me when she's finished hiding among your smallclothes."

Can somebody please shoot me?

I die a little inside when the door shuts behind him, seriously considering staying in the wardrobe for the rest of my life. I only sit unperturbed for a minute or so, though, before Ichabod yanks the door open, looking rather piqued.

"Unless you have a mind to spend the night in there, now would be good time to get out."

I reluctantly do as he says. It's definitely not my most graceful moment.

He gives me a strange look, then sighs wearily. "What is going on, Linda?"

I try and straighten my skirts, avoiding eye contact. I can't see how I could possibly explain without mentioning the library… thing and I have absolutely no desire to do that. Not only because it's extremely embarrassing but also because something tells me that in his mind the phrase 'Katrina was talking with Erhard' is equivalent to 'He was threatening to maim her.' So I opt for the coward's way out. "…Nothing."

"Then why is the Hessian chasing you around the house?"

"He's not chasing me around the house," I grumble, rolling my eyes. "I just… I mean… It's complicated, alright?"

"Did you argue?"

"No." Although I wish we had. Because that would have been far less humiliating.

He frowns suspiciously. "Did he hurt you?"

I throw him a look "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not the one hiding in the closet."

I open my mouth to snap back… then realize I have nothing to say. He's right, hiding like a complete coward _is _childish. It's like I'm actively trying to make things more awkward and I don't even seem to notice it.

Can I get nothing right?

"I'm sorry I disturbed you." I hand him the rumpled shirt I dragged along when I climbed out of the wardrobe. I don't think I'm ready for another lecture now, especially when I know that he'll be right about it, so I just give him an apologetic look and head outside, scurrying back to the safety of my room.

_Stupid._

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to LabyFan23, TheElegantFaerie, gingersexfairy, HessianLover99, Guest, TheFluffyBakura, noodle86, Hi, Newhere and NorthernLights6****7 for their awesome reviews! :)  
><strong>


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